When Bollocks Drop!

On the bus this morning, my tired client tried desperately to snatch 40 winks.

However, he had to settle for a mere 5 or 6 winks between potholes and some pretty erratic manoeuvring.

His nodding in and out of dream land gave me time to get my thoughts in order and fire up those little grey cells with regards as to what I would regale you with today.

Travel with me, if you would be so kind, back to the year 1969.

I was ten years old and undergoing the torture that is education. The quick witted amongst you will have worked out my age by now, but for those of you that have no skill with numbers ... I am mumble-mumble years old!

Yes, I was in Junior School!

As I recall ...and I'm a pretty good re-caller ... it was December and fast approaching Christmas and the school was winding down for the festive holidays.

In the weeks prior to this ... the day I am about to re-live with you ... we (the school choir) had been working hard on all the carols we planned to entertain the parents and family of pupils.  Forget the Nativity Play! We, the choir, were the stars!

We started practising in November and at that time I was only a member of the chorus ... an also-singer, if you will. Then, just a week before our Christmas concert, Tony "Snot-face" Davidson, our boy-soprano, found himself with an 'get out of Jail free' card when he came down with a mystery throat infection.

A replacement for all those squeaky-note songs that we'd been practising was needed and Miss Stimpson (music teacher) was in a lather and threatening to pull the ginger hair from her head.

She made all the boys, including me, despite my best efforts to hide, try out for the role of boy-soprano.

One after the other, we were (frog) marched into the music room where she commanded us to sing.

As it happened, I turned out to be an even better boy-soprano than 'snot-face'!

And I was given the job!

All went well.

Until ....

The school hall was full of proud parents!

The Nativity play had ended with Mary, having thrown the Baby Jesus at the head of Josef, crying her eyes and being lead away by one of the teachers.

Then it was the choirs turn.

We marched out onto the stage to a ripple of applause and proceeded to flawlessly belt out carol after carol.  The watching parents rewarded us after each one with rapturous applause and occasional cheers!

Then twelve of us stepped forward to sing the last carol of the show ... The Twelve Days Of Christmas!

As the 'squeaky' singer, I had been given the number five spot ... Five Gold Rings.

"On the first day of Christmas, My true love gave to me ..." we all sang.

"A partridge in a pair tree!" sang number one.


"On the second day of Christmas, My true love gave to me ..." we all sang.


"Two turtle doves!" sang number two.

"And a partridge in a pair tree!" sang number one.

And so it went.  Each of us singing a 'day'.

I managed to sing "Five Go-old rings" three squeaky times before disaster struck.

On my fourth attempt the squeak became a crackly, gurgly grunt!!!

The audience sniggered.

At each further attempt, my voice crackled like an old crystal radio set.  My throat hurt; my face took on the hue of beetroot; my fellow singer's chuckled their way through their parts.

The audience ... the bastards! ... applauded every croak!

I wanted to die.

I wanted to knock seven bells out of 'Snot-face' for bailing out.

I never wanted to sing ever again.

And to cap it all ... I had no idea why my voice had let me down.

At least not until it was explained to me the effect a pair of new bollocks could have on a lad of my age!