About This Blog

This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!

The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.

I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.

Sunday, 5 December 2010

Growing Up In Instalments 1963-1969

Obviously, I don't remember being born.

I can't tell you that I heard a popping sound; that I was engulfed in a sudden, brilliant light; that I remember that first slap on my rump by a child abuser in a green gown and mask.

I can't tell you any of that.

In fact, my earliest memory is that of being left in the capable hands of Mrs Peggy Puntin (headmistress) at the doors of Newbiggin by-the-Sea Infant School.  My parents had pinned a 'disclaimer' onto my duffel coat, in the hope that they would not be blamed for any colourful language that might escape my lips.

I was 4 years old and I hated being in school.

My parents always told me that if I was ever separated from them whilst shopping, than I should look for a policeman, as I could ALWAYS ask a policeman for help. In my first week in school I managed to make two 999 phone calls from the school office, claiming on both occasions that the 'people' there wouldn't  let me go home to my parents.

In those days I had to wear short trousers and braces ... in all weathers ... and I never forgave my parents for it.
Those short trousers are the reason that my legs are so stumpy now!
Like Koi, they only grew as much as their environment allowed!

Junior school followed and I remember many a time spent hiding on the roof of the boys toilets so that I could avoid the dreaded handicraft lesson which almost always had us embroidering table place mats.  It never seemed to occur to our teachers that boys and embroidery are not a good mix!

This was also the place where I discovered my singing voice, as choir membership was compulsory.  Our music teacher, Miss Stimpson, said I had such a good voice that I should sing all those high, screechy parts in all of our choir's performances.

From the age of 7 I played a major part in our school concerts.

But in December of 1969, my dreams of stardom, and of becoming bigger than the Beatles, came to an extremely embarrassing end.

It was at the school Christmas Nativity play and concert.  The youngsters had just done their Mary, Josef and Jesus thing and the choir was now centre stage for our rendition of The 12 Days Of Christmas.

The choir was to sing "On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me  ...."  and I, as our squeakiest singer, would sing a prolonged, and high pitched "5 Gold Rings".

I successfully managed it 6 or 7 times before disaster struck!

On my next attempt at an ear-piercing "5 Gold Rings" my voice, in response to developing nuts, broke.  Accompanied by the laughter of over two hundred parents and teachers and a burning sensation in my face, I croaked my way through the remainder of the performance, but had already decided that at that point that I would  never, ever sing in public again.

And I never have!


  1. That sounds awful! (But I still laughed at your misfortune. Many apologies.)

  2. That incident you described would turn anybody off singing for life, i don't blame you at all.


Any and all comments are welcome ...