Archive for October, 2010
A Wintery Pause
Oct 31st
The Bleak Midwinter
Sliding, Scraping & Staying Home
It’s a funny thing, winter. Certainly in Plymouth it is anyway. It happens about once every five years and just like it did last January, it completely screws things up for a week or so. The snow falls unexpectedly to a depth of about an inch and no-one knows what the hell to do. You switch on local TV news to see kids sliding down the merest hint of a hill on a dustbin lid, a poor driver trying and failing to drive his car up an icy incline and worst of all, a local reporter has been driven to the middle of nowhere to show us the scarf he got for Christmas and to indicate with a sweep of his arm what chaos awaits you outside.
Commuter Chaos!
Important-looking officials impart the most pointless instruction in the world “stay at home unless your journey is absolutely necessary” and everyone ignores them for fear of having no milk in their tea, no fag in their mouth and possibly the kids at home all day. Seriously, how would you classify a journey as “not absolutely necessary”? Certainly, no employer is going to let you off a days work because someone on the radio told you stay at home. What usually happens is that you chip your car out of the frost and drive gingerly away. You sit forward enough for your nose to touch the windscreen and you grip the steering wheel in the hope that the harder you do so, the more grip the tyres are going to have on the road. It doesn’t help of course. You are almost certain to start sliding sideways the moment you touch the brakes and if there’s one thing worse than a high speed accident, its an incredibly slow one that you can do nothing about. Nevertheless, your employer still expects you get there and its once you are there that your problems really begin. If it has stopped actually snowing by the time you get to work, it will start again not long after you arrive. You and your employer will then do little work anyway and instead stare at the window and the slow-falling flakes of chaos. You will be hoping to be sent home soon and they are hoping that it will stop and that they won’t have to send you home soon, whilst simultaneously hoping they CAN send you home thus enabling them to go home as well. Ahh, the stress of management…
At some point, you are allowed home and more horror awaits. Annoying people in 4X4 monstrosities seize the moment to smug you to death. Most of the year we scorn their selfish choice of oil burning machine, but for today at least they can be comfortable and safe. Their unnecessary blight on the ecological landscape still bruises the planet for 350 days of the year but for now they can be warmed by their own superiority and our palpable jealousy. If you look closely, they have probably given a lift to a few non-drivers and saved them from slipping and sliding their way home in the bitter cold. They will no doubt find time to stare at you as they drive away, their judgemental, bobble-hatted gaze futher burning into your angered heart.
By now, you may be wondering why I am talking about this on Halloween. Well, it was a bit frosty on Monday morning and I was caught unawares. The car warmed up eventually and the windows cleared, thanks mostly to the drippy remnants of last year’s de-icer and the edge of my bank card. On the way home, I bought two cans of de-icer and once home, I topped up the anti-freeze.
The next day, the temperature soared by about 5 degrees and nothing but warm morning drizzle has greeted me since.
You are welcome. I like to think of the first moments of Winter panic as a kind of public service.
TV
Upside-down Eyes!!
A recent phenomenon is the autumn TV surge. In recent years, SKY has started showing US TV series only a few days after they broadcast in the States. Due to my hours of work (evenings), I have to SKY+ all of these programs and watch them later. For some reason, I end up saving these for the weekends and starting on Saturday night, I have to methodically watch each of the 11 programmes. I make it sound like torture, when it is actually the opposite, but there is something about seeing all those recorded programmes lined up that fills me with dread. It happens every week and then, around May, the series all finish and there’s nothing on. I could quite easily leave all these programmes and watch them at anytime. The SKY+ box kindly stacks them all up in little folders but I MUST watch them and watch them NOW.
I haven’t even mentioned the programmes that actually go out live on Saturday night, namely Strictly Come Dancing and The X Factor. I usually watch these on Monday morning and fast-forward through them – especially Cher and her upside-down eyes, funny mouth and hugely annoying leg twitch.
Radio
I have no desire to return to the angry young blogger that I became in the first part of the year but I must allow myself a little bit of release now and again. All this week and for a lot of the preceeding few months, the broadcasters on Radio 2 have been endlessly plugging this year’s “Electric Proms”.
Electric Proms
Quite what separates this annual event from every other live performance they broadcast, I am not quite sure, but this hasn’t stopped them elevating it to the status of an indisputable religious miracle. This is annoying enough but not the whole story. What really gets my goat is the way they talk about it like we could all go if we wanted to. Let me explain. Only 7 million of of us live in London. Let’s be generous and say that maybe 10 million people live close enough to go without too much inconvenience. The remaining 50 million are a bit stuck, even if they wanted to go. This doesn’t seem to stop our favourite radio station pretending that this wonderous event is for all of us. They do the same with productions in the West End. Its “our theatre” and “the nation’s theatre”. No it isn’t. Shut up. It’s for people who live in London and not for those who live 100s of miles away.
As a side gripe, it also seems that it is for BBC staff too. A quick glance at Twitter or a quick listen to the station’s output the next day made it clear that an event so exclusive that tickets were given away in a telephone lottery, was attended by any DJ who wanted to go and quite a few hangers on as well. Not good at all.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am still proud of the BBC. I listen to Radio 2 and Radio 4 every single day and they are both wonderful. I just wish they would stop talking about Neil Diamond, Robert Plant (all hail) and Elton John like they represent the second coming. They are good musicians, all very good at their “jobs” but that’s about it. Get a grip people.
School
I didn’t have much to blog about this week regarding school or writing. It did occur to me that, in two weeks time, I will be back in Dover for Old Boys Weekend and it’s the first such visit that has taken place during a blogging phase. I can’t let this pass without doing something appropriate so I am going to do some sort of blog from there. I am not sure exactly what to do but I’ll think of something. I do have a dictaphone and I do know people who like to talk a lot so that might be one directon to go in. My travelling companions probably just swallowed something hard and jagged but I promise they are safe.
I am going to take some more photos certainly and I have compiled a list of things to check up on. I have been writing about things that took place 30 years ago and 400 miles away for ages. It will be cool to actually check the memories out.
L8r
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Writing – Vol.2 – A Little More Self Doubt
Oct 17th
The Dover Pylons & A Bit Of Dover Castle. A bit higher up and you could probably see the school.
A Brief Point of Admin
What ho everyone. It’s Sunday again and I need to get this done quite quickly as I am switching broadband providers this week and will be without the internet from midnight tonight until Thursday night at the earliest. Yes, I am terrified. I still have my phone though but don’t expect any great length to my online musings. The screen is very small and my fingers are quite pudgy.
All of which has nothing to do with my life as an author.
It’s All About Me
Since I first started writing about all things school, the 80s and my life in general, many have stared at me in disbelief and uttered something along the lines of “how the hell do you
Ready For Parade, 1980
remember all this stuff?”. Both “hell” and “stuff” are oft replaced by something a little fruitier but their consternation is quite genuine. I usually respond the same way – I look a bit embarrassed and mumble “I don’t know”. It’s not a prepared answer but it is honestly the truth. I really don’t remember everything. I really don’t even come close. I have a story in my head but it’s the story of me and to a lesser extent those I interacted with. There will be those I won’t remember at all and there are certainly events that completely passed me by. After 25-30 years, its all a bit of a confused muddle with only specific dormitories, common rooms and music there to help me differentiate.
I also suffer terribly from “day two” syndrome. I read about this online a few years ago when looking for something completely unrelated (you know how it is) and was relieved to see it is something of a common dilemma. Let me explain; Day one of my story is easy. It’s the first time I walked into the school, the first time I saw my dormitory, bed, locker, uniform, housemaster and probably Sean. Dead easy. It’s also the day we saw Disney’s “The Rescuers” in The Nye Hall and the time I lost the £5 my dad gave me. It is however, NOT the day I cried into the lid of my suitcase as my dad left. Yes, despite a lifetime of feeble protest from me, he went to his grave convinced that I blubbed when he left me my new school. I actually didn’t blub until well into my 2nd form but we’ll get to that later.
Anyway, Day One. Easy.
So, what about Day Two?
God knows.
Actually, I do have some thoughts but my point is still distressingly valid. The same problem rears it’s head when we get to my 4th Form. The 4th Form is an almost non-year and if it wasn’t for the fact that we moved into a specific common room, there would be little to hang 3 terms of memories on. Fear not eager reader, I managed many thousands of words nonetheless.
So I will get stuff wrong and there will be gaps. My story seems to hang together pretty consistently and Sean’s tags along quite healthily too. Not far behind him, several other friends tag along. Then there is everyone else.
Everyone Else
Many of The Class of 86 Outside The Science Block, circa 1982 or 1983.
So what of everyone else? What of the people I didn’t know? What of the people I disliked? What of those who’s stories are unpleasant, embarrassing and not much fun at all?
The people I didn’t know will probably get little mention and probably care little. The people I disliked…well, I realised a while ago that I still don’t like them 25 years later and I didn’t enjoy writing about them much. This hasn’t changed. I am also not out to embarrass people. Raking up stories about things that had no effect on me whatsoever is not the general idea but there are a few things I can’t ignore and I won’t. I just hope I get it right.
To take one example, two people left in the middle of our 4th form for related reasons. I must have rewritten this bit the most but I am still not happy with it. I’ll just try and stick to how it affects me and leave it at that. It’s all hindsight in any case and as I quite liked one of them and disliked the other, it’s hard to be objective. I can only hope it doesn’t dissolve into a mess of initials and apologetic, uninteresting generalisations.
Where To Begin
Where to begin or more precisely, when to begin has bothered me since I first put metaphorical pen to paper. How far back do I go? Do I begin with walking through the school gates? How about when I sat the entrance exam? How about when first stared into the distance and pondered a life? In the end, I asked someone else and went with their advice. This simple guidance probably prevented me from burying the school years into the middle third of “Neil Argue – A Life”, a mighty tome beginning with a shrieking baby and ending with a 42 year old bloke getting his haircut last Friday.
And who apart from me would want to read that?
Let’s see how much you like Volume 1 before I worry about the rest.
Popularity: 18% [?]
Writing – Vol.1 – A Terribly Good Idea
Oct 10th
The View From The Pavillion - November 1999
They do say that everyone has at least one novel in them. If this theory extends to one story, one work of non-fiction or even an interesting few paragraphs then I might be in with a chance. I am a terrible procrastinator and would always rather do something else than something I have to. I am probably not alone in suffering from this crippling condition but I might just challenge all comers on the depths of my suffering. I well remember staring out of the bedroom window in Taunton in April 1984, Steve Wright was on the radio and a very loosely followed revision plan on the table in front of me. In a few months, my O levels would begin and all the stuff I was supposed to be cramming into my head would soon have to be regurgitated in readable form. The problem was, I didn’t care. I really didn’t care. I am counting on the fact that I am actually trying to complete something I care about to make things a little different this time. I can think of few better ways to find out if I am right than to actually give it a go.
I am not really selling this “follow my literary journey” bit am I?
So, how did I go about starting my book and what do I need to sort out?
Deciding To Write The Book
Outside The Swingate after parade Back (L - R) Dave Irvine, Mark Hart Front(L-R) Sean Veasey, DJ Vaughn, Ian Cokayne
Well, this sounds a little obvious but I don’t really want to skip over it. I decided to write the book whilst standing in the cricket pavillion at the school in 1999. I was watching the traditional Old Boys Vs 1st XV rugby match late on Rememberance Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t a terrible weekend and as my photos remind me, we had met up with 7 or 8 fellow Class of 86 friends who neither of us had seen for knocking on 10 years. By the the time Sunday afternoon came round, most had left but my best school chum Sean (Veasey) was with me, as were Mark Hart and Dave Irvine. Mark had actually left in 1984 at the end of his 5th form but his connection to the school was nonetheless strong. It could be argued that it was in fact stronger as his mother was a matron at the school and he had been back far more often than any of us in recent years.
We stood watching the rugby more in line with tradition than any great love of the game. All of a sudden Mark said “trainasium” and 13 years crumbled away. I can’t remember the context but it doesn’t really matter. It was easily the funniest thing the other 3 three of us had heard since we left school.
And so I thought I’d write a book about it all.
I could probably have worked up to that a bit slower.
The Title
My early efforts turned into a website that has long since vanished but that is pretty much where it all started. I’ll ignore the few tentative starts and jump forward to somewhere around 2002 when I clearly remember sitting down and typing the words “Fried Bread & Marmalade” at the top of a brand new document in Microsoft Word 97.
Mmmm…the title. It was what the website was called from the beginning and unlike a lot of what I will commit to paper, I can confidently claim 100% ownership of the idea. You see, it will come as no surprise to most of you that the school provided 3 meals a day and breakfast was one of them. I could bitch about the quality of the food but I won’t (not here anyway). We didn’t starve and let’s leave at that for now. Anyway, breakfast each day consisted of cereal, toast and a full fry-up. Instead of toast, we could have a piece of fried bread and in a tradition that probably had outlasted all others up to that point in Dukie history we spread marmalade on it and it was wonderful. It seemed to be greatly enhanced by the fact that they only fried the crusts of the bread. This was breakfast cake and if it wasn’t for the fact that I only managed to get up early enough for breakfast about 5 times in the whole of my two-year sixth form, I would have left school weighing 25 stone.
As a title, I have never really considered anything else apart from “Grand Old Days” (Grand Day was and is the end of year parade) and for one brief weekend in 2005 or so, “Shit…Can I Try All That Again Please?”. I am not completely familiar with Waterstones’ purchasing policy but that last one might have been a little problematic.
Fried Bread & Marmalade it is then.
No? Well, it means a lot to a few thousand blokes and I am not changing it now. I have a folder called FBM on my PC and everything.
Where was I?
Oh yes..the blank page stared back at me like a literary cliche (sorry) and my fingers were poised. I dimly remembered reading somewhere about having a writing plan. Certainly, all of my english teachers had spoken of such things in my youth but did real authors actually plan what they wrote? I now realise they probably do and so should I.
The Plan
Thud.
My forehead hit the desk.
This was going to be harder than I thought. As more and more thoughts entered my head, I typed like a possessed idiot and soon ended up with a huge, messy list. Like I had done so many times before when working on a project, I switched to Excel and tried to lay things out in some sort of order. I had started off with 9 headings – Before, 1979, 1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1986 & After. This seemed pretty logical but it turned out to be too general. So, I added sub-headings under each – friends, music, travel, schoolwork and so on. It sort of worked and after almost 10 years, it’s huge. I have also done a huge family tree type thing which is pretty impressive. I seriously doubt I will ever stop adding to it. The last addition for instance was dated 8/10/10 and just says “terrified of losing dad’s cap badge”. Many friends of mine in their 40s just slowly nodded.
A Brief Fictional Detour
One thing that still bothers me is privacy. You see, I have and will be speaking about people who actually exist and some of those things they were involved in, if not completely embarrassing and offensive, certainly could raise a few eyebrows. There is no way I am going to be able to ask everyone’s permission and from the beginning, I knew I would end up talking about some quite unpleasant stuff in amongst all the whimsy. I still wonder to this day whether I have the right share all this with the world. Obviously, I could adopt a few common methods – using initials for instance – but that would probably only work up to a point. It wouldn’t take a genius long on Facebook to work out who I.K. is for instance. Actually, I am not sure I.K. is actually on Facebook but you see my point. After 10 years at this, it is still something I ponder and it is also why, for a brief period, I was going to write it all as a work of fiction using completely different names and in some cases, merging characters and even making a few up. I actually wrote about 5000 words and might share some if it in the near future. It’s not brilliant by any means and reading some of it this morning made me cringe a little. It had a really original beginning set in November 1999. The “hero” was watching a rugby match with some friends and thinking about the past. His hair was blowing in the harsh cold wind and everything. Profound it wasn’t. Pretentious I think it might have been. You could even picture the point at which the image of the clock tower would shimmer and someone would play an arpeggio on a harp.
No really.
See you soon.
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