St. Kevins Roman Catholic Comprehensive School, Kirkby, Merseyside.

Dating.

Though it was actually still part of Lancashire when I first went there in 1968.

Two thousand boys.

Testosterone City.

Fights everywhere, sometimes with the boys, sometimes with the teachers.

Priests with a streak of Sadism.

There was a ritual you had to go through if you had a date with a girl. It went like this – and I will make no apology for having lived through this ordeal many times.

‘Did you go out with some tart the other night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you get your hole?’

‘No.’

‘Did you get your finger?’

‘No.’

‘Did you get your tit?’

‘No.’

‘Are you a queer?’

Raging in Sanur.

Regrets!

It’s a popular idea that, as you get older you regret the things you didn’t do, more than the things you did.

I can go with that.

These couple of months in Bali have left me in a very reflective mood. And today, Matthew, I am mostly being Mr Angry of no fixed abode!

I regret not twatting my father-in-law for being an interfering cvnt. He professed his Christianity in a sickeningly pious way, yet underneath it all he was a greedy, reprehensible twat. A kick in the bollocks, delivered at the right time, would have left me and my wife together for many more years.

Photo by Nathan Cowley on Pexels.com

I regret not calling out Regan for being a thief, when he ‘appropriated’ the £2000 I had raised for the Army Cadets. His thieving logic was that, as it was in the school accounts, he could do what he wanted with it. I made sure the Cadets knew he was a thieving cvnt and so they had to pay full fees for our next camp – the £2000 was meant to subsidise them. I had to open a new external account so the thieving git could not access any future funds.

I regret not calling my sister a fecking hypocrite for the way she wore her Catholicism while taking the piss out of her friends and family. Such a good catholic girl, she has cut off relations with two of her brothers and her only sister. Sadly, as far as I can see, a typical church going attitude.

So many deserve this up the arse

I also regret the number of times I have had to compromise in relationships. Maybe I should become the one who cries and whinges ‘if you really loved me, you’d agree with me.’ Why do us men put up with that shit?

I also regret not starting my writing career earlier in life, so I could eviscerate these cvnts in writing!

Most of all I regret not calling out so many colleagues over the years, for being absolute bellends!

Farts and retirement

Retirement.

I’ve tried it a few times now and it hasn’t worked. When I left my school in China as a Headmaster I thought that would be it. I believed I’d done some marvellous investments which were due to come to fruition… I was wrong – still fighting that one 14 years later! After a year of gathering debt I went back to Qatar as Head of Science; then to Kazakhstan, Gran Canaria, Morocco, and Azerbaijan.

The scourge of covid hit me in Baku so decided to retire again.  I think I lasted 3 months and then went to work at a Further Education college for 6 months. I loved it. The students were apprentices on day release or adults returning part-time to Education. My favourite class was an adult GCSE Maths class – some of the students were older than me.

After the six months that was over so I ‘retired’ again. I rapidly went through the rest of my savings… and have spent the last three years teaching Maths in Oman! I had one of my senior girls leave this summer. She said, with tears in her eyes, ‘Mr Peter, you are the only person who has ever made me understand Maths!’ Which was very moving until she added, ‘but Physics still doesn’t make any sense to me!’

Now spending the summer in Sanur, Bali, I have to consider maybe properly reting again in a years’ time. After all I will be 70!

So researching ‘retirement’. Indonesia offers a retirement visa. I read today that Thailand offers a five-year visa if you have £11,200 in the bank and comprehensive medical insurance, so there is another possibility. I have also looked at going home and buying a mobile home on the edge of the Lake District, and a boat on the Norfolk Broads. Everybody tells me the cost of living is rocketing. I know that here in Bali I can get a 620ml bottle of Bintang for about £2; in the UK it would be 4 or 5 times that!

Then there are other things to consider;

Flights, insurance, a car? And just my State pension to rely on unless I can get something back on my bad investments.

Then again I can continue to tutor at an hourly rate.

I’ve written three books which are on Amazon and I have outline plans for at least 6 more – currently working on ‘Fairy Hanny and Knights in White Satin’ while I sit at my breakfast table surrounded by lush tropical vegetation.

Decisions to be made.

Perhaps I should just start writing fart jokes! I’ve been watching these guys online doing fart pranks and I find myself crying with laughter!

Long Playing records

I have no idea why sitting at various bars in Sanur, Bali, is making me recall and review so much of life. Maybe because this candle has almost burned down to the bottom, so I have to get it all on record.

Which reminds me of records! I am of the era that grew up with vinyl records – singles at 45 rpm and LP’s at 33 rpm.

The first record I ever bought under my own steam was Neanderthal Man by Hotlegs, the group that eventually morphed into 10CC. I say under my own steam because prior to that my Mum had sent me to a shop called Banners to buy here favourite singles. I remember buying her Band of Gold by Freda Payne. To me it was just a pop song, but now when I look back at the constant bickering and fights between my parents, I see it meant something else to her.

Back to records.

My first album was Sergeant Peppers by the Beatles. We had a lovely big stereogram at home and I played that album whenever I had the chance – it was rare as the TV was almost always on! I managed to get a portable record player for my 13th birthday, and that solved that issue!

My second album was Led Zeppelin 2 which cost me 45 shillings (£2.25). This was followed by Deep Purple in Rock, Mud Slide Slim (James Taylor), and Master of Reality (Black Sabbath) .

My older sister went on a big adventure the summer I turned 14. Her best friend had relatives in the Boston Area of America, so off they went for a months holiday. When she returned she brought me a copy of Sweet Baby James (Taylor again!).

So now I had six albums!

I was ready to be a DJ!!

Then Maria said that in effect all of those albums belonged to the family and she would take them to parties if she wanted!

Feck that!

I bundled them in old wallpaper and hid them in the Attic to stop her getting at them.

Which of course meant I couldn’t get at them either!

Youth and common sense rarely go hand in hand…

I was jealous of her trip to the States and vowed that one day I would go. Ten years later, in the Summer of 1981, I went to work at a summer camp in New York State. It was a place called Camp Long Lake, way out in the Boondocks – it was fantastic! I am sure that will lead to another post some time.

PS. I still have all six of them in my storeroom in Liverpool!

Eye for an Eye

St. Kevins, Kirkby, Lancashire, 1970

We were still in Lancashire then. Merseyside was created April 1974, so all my exercise books said Lancashire County Council, though some did have the school crest on the front and the famous Respice Finem.

We used to write A.M.D.G. in the top left-hand corner of every page as we were devoting our work to the greater glory of god, even though half of us were catholic atheists.

I remember so many funny St.Kevs jokes – mostly knob and plop jokes

What did one leg say to the other?

I see shorty is growing a beard!

Every Autumn we had a game which involved going into the local woods, collecting acorns, and having acorn battles.

Harmless fun?

At the start of the third year of secondary school – they call it year 9 these days – we had been split into option groups. Being in the top set of 16, we were expected to focus on Academic subjects – for my class ‘O’ level Physics was compulsory. Fortunately for me I loved Physics and still don’t quite get the point of Biology, and Chemistry just makes horrible smells and explosions. I think Rutherford put it well when he said, ‘In Science, there is only Physics, all the rest is stamp collecting’.

I know what he means – for Biology and Chemistry you just have to know things; like don’t throw lithium in water or you will die.

As top set we were allowed one practical subject and I found myself in the ‘O’ level Art class. Which was fine.

Photo by Aibek Skakov on Pexels.com

One day I was standing in line waiting to go into the building for my Art class when someone called my name. I turned to my right and was instantly in excruciating pain. The acorn game had just gone awry – some blond headed fecker had just hit me in the eyeball.

I was taken to hospital straight away and it was discovered that the acorn had cut a small slash in my cornea.

Treatment – one week in bed, no movement.

When you’re 13 years old a bed pan just does not work.

I have vague memories of St. Pauls Eye Hospital in Liverpool. Nobody was ill, they just had fucked up eyes. Cataracts and eye removal were the main problems, and occasionally an Industrial chemical accident.

I remember the nurses on night duty being constantly harassed by these one-eyed deviants. Cyclops verses the Vestal Virgins.

One night the lads got some sort of aerosol and were chasing the nurses and spraying it up their dresses and singing,

Oh, them frozen Knickers,

Oh, them frozen Knickers!

I think it was based on one of those old Minstrel songs.

I recovered, but never did fully develop proper stereo vision. This has meant that sports like Squash and Badminton have never allowed me to reach a high level as I can never quite get the position of the projectiles right.

Thank feck for football.

Moping

19th July.

Today I am totally lacking inspiration in terms of writing. By which I mean getting to my laptop to work on the three WIPs;

Fairy Hanny and the Knights in White Satin – the fourth adventure of the crazy Fairy

St, Nedds – the life of Physics teacher Dr. BQ and his shenanigans with the motorcycle riding Sloths

Sellafield to Switzerland – reflection on 78 to 79 when I worked in Nuclear Research then went to work on a farm in Switzerland; from writing bullshit to shovelling cow shit

I’ve jotted down some notes which can become blog posts.

I wonder if I am still just mooning about Aisha? Is it because she is the only woman who gives me any attention these days?

Sod it – the Bintang is calling!!!

Blert

Today I watched a short clip on Facebook. It was scousers saying their favourite put-down words. We love the obvious ones – but I won’t use them here…

Some of my favourites include calling someone;

A Blert

A Meff

A Melt

Ya Wool

Soft lad

Arlarse

Head the Ball

A Divvy

A Bin Dipper

A Bellend

A Knobhead

And saying Your Dad works for Avon!

PS. For the uninitiated – Scouser is a term used to describe people from Liverpool, England.

Honda!

Way back in the days of my youth when I was told what it means to be a man…

I think it was in the second year of my Applied Physics B.Sc. course at the Lanchester Polytechnic in Coventry. One of the lads went missing for a while. It was not unusual for people to miss lectures, especially not the 9 a.m. ones. But Russel missed a week – again not to rare. Then he was missing a second week.

We asked one of the Lecturers. All that Dr. John would say is that the young man had been admitted to hospital, but he could not disclose any more than this as none of us were relatives.

All right and proper.

And realise – the internet, smart phones and social media did not exist at the time.

When Russel returned we asked after his health, and all he would say was that he’d been ill and had to go to hospital. Of course you don’t get away with that sort of answer to a group of 20-year-old young men (and one woman). So we badgered him, refused to buy him any booze until he came clean.

Eventually he had to admit that he’d had a very large and painful abscess in his anus. He had gone to hospital to have it drained under general anaesthetic.

From then on he was known as Honda…

You know the old saying – abscess makes the farts go Honda!

Marcus Aurelius


In the development of my next volume (WIP) Fairy Hanny and the Knights in White Satin, one of the Time Travellers claims to have met Marcus Aurelius.


Which reminded me – in his famous collected work Meditations the great stoic philosopher wrote about his bum.


‘Life can be a pain in the arse. In my case it was diagnosed by my physician Septicus Anus’