Fairy Hanny

Paloma Bar and Resto, Sanur, Bali.

Deaking with life… in a bar

I was welcomed as I had been there before! I sat down with a beer and a menu, and then a pissed up Australian decided I was his mate. He sat opposite me and started jabbering about being born in England but moved to Australia when he was eleven and was now retired. I told him I’d tried retiring three times but didn’t like it.

No smile.

Then he decided to call me a Scouse Bastard. Now I know Aussies call each other Bastard in a friendly way so I went along with it and explained to him that I am a Catholic Scouse Bastard.

My mistake. Turns out his father was a Scottish Presbyterian who believed in Ulster being part of Britain and that all Catholics support the IRA. I told him I had been TA Officer working with Army Cadets in the UK but he was too pissed to follow.

Fortunately the bar staff moved him away so I could eat.

Then for some reason I found myself talking with the Bar Owner. She was a kid aged 25! How the feck do you get to own a bar when you’re 25?

Family money?

Crime?

Family money from crime?

Anyway she asked if I believed in Jesus. I said I am a Physicist and find it hard to deal with the logic of religion, despite my Catholic upbringing. I hoped we would move on to another subject…

She quoted a few things from the Gospels, alleged teachings of Jesus. I pointed out the Gospels were written at least one hundred years after Jesus had died, and that the meticulous records kept by the Romans in Judaea showed no record of a prophet known as Jesus. I also asked her if she could show me where in the bible it says that Rape and Slavery are bad things, and did she realise that many of the things it says in Leviticus would probably mean that by now she probably should have stoned a few people to death.

Then I pulled out a few quotes on my Phone;

“If a man lies with a male both shall surely be put to death.

Do not leave alive anything that breathes. Destroy the entire nation. Men women children and babies.

You may beat your slave as long as they don’t die within 2 days.

If a man rapes a virgin he must pay 50 shekels to marry her.”

Her comeback?

‘You’re just old and sceptical.’

It was an interesting night!

Teachers who have a previous career…

Teaching reflections – not in a Physics class.

Why do so many people who enter teaching after a failed career somewhere else, feel they know how to run a school?

I once knew a Headmaster who started out as an accountant, then trained as a Solicitor, became a school Bursar, then was appointed as a Head, having never taught a lesson in his life!

I knew a Physics teacher who spent fifteen years in research then moved into teaching without completing any teacher training. The first thing she said to me was that all Deputy Heads and Heads were dickheads – I was a Deputy Head at the time.

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And an older woman who took early retirement then decided to teach English, again without a teaching qualification. She instantly upset the Head of English and the EAL staff by making out that she knew more than all of them put together. She was another one who knew how to get senior staff on her side through gossip and innuendo. Three English teachers quit because of her – Great Job!

Then we have OFSTED, full of failed bankers, lawyers, accountants and other professional idiots. And they come into schools to evaluate teachers and not one of them has ever spent a day teaching! [rude word deleted].

But the biggest Tw@ I ever met was a guy with a degree in Music who went to be an IT technician in a school in Shanghai. He was sacked for incompetence. The next thing he is a senior teacher at my school, leaching of the narcissistic Head, trying to tell the rest of us how to teach. The best part was when, after a lesson observation with one of my Science colleagues, he said he wanted to give her some feedback. She just looked at him and said, ‘You’re not a qualified teacher so I am not listening’ and walked out of his office!

Magic!

Arrogant idiots

Dunning-Kruger syndrome

I get fed up with stupid people who think they know everything. I see people these days who pick up their phones when I tell them some Historical or Political fact. They feel they have to check what I said. I call that rude ignorance.

It takes me back to a former arrogant colleague I worked with at a boarding school in England. He was ex- boarding school with that silly British accent – they call it Queens English. I’m from Liverpool with my 1960’s scouse accent, which is a little different to what I hear these days in Liverpool!

Anyway, Marc always tried to make out he was better than me – little put-downs, smarmy jokes at my expense etc. The feckin eejit had no idea about scousers and our independence.

So one day we were chatting. I asked him about his school, his university (some low-grade place where just managed to get a pass in politics and history), and the fact that he didn’t have a PGCE so wasn’t really a qualified teacher. He was also living up the Headmasters arse.

It turns out his Daddy was a senior Army officer, so he got his boarding school place paid for by the taxpayer… That opened a door for me!

‘So you used to live off the benefit system?’

Strike one.

I have an honours degree in Physics, still one of the hardest degrees to obtain. I have a PGCE and at the time I was working on my master’s degree.

Strike two.

The I just said, ‘Look Mark, you grew up in this boarding environment and you’re still living the same life. I grew up in the arse end of Liverpool, fought my way through a really rough school where teachers thought you were a success if you passed one O level, got a degree in Physics and have a PGCE and I am a fully qualified teacher. And you’ve done fuck all with your life!’

Strike three.

He avoided me after that…

Return to Redbeard.

Watching people.

Back at the Barbarossa restaurant and bar. This time I see a big group of western men with Indonesian WAG’s. Am I jealous… All very noisy, but thankfully ignoring me.

On the menu for me today was duck breast with mashed potatoes and steamed veg. Fabulous. Also this place has the best beer in Sanur – Summer Pale ale. I cant believe itd the fourth week and I need to extend my visa to 60 days – easy to do online.

For some reason this large group is intimidating and I am reluctant to take out my laptop and start writing. I don’t want anyone to think I am one of those feckin pain-in-the-arse ‘influencers’, trying to grift a meal. I want to shout, ‘I’m writing a book!’.

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Of course there are a couple of ignorant smokers, pumping their stench at the rest of us. Selfish bastards. I still have the desire to stand next to one of them and do a continuous 10-minute stinky fart and see how they enjoy that! It would have to be one of those farts that engulfs the room for at least 15 minutes and the odour should stick to their clothes like cigarette smoke does to others.

Feckers.

Then one of them would say, ‘Bejaysus! Nothing smells like that and lives!’

Meanwhile I would like to inject small particles of carcinogenic pollutants into their lungs in order to balance the equation.

I remember a chat In had recently with one of my students. Jenna agrees that some of us just don’t feel the need to be constantly talking, while others cant shut up for even five minutes. It seems the average person cannot cope with silence. In some ways that constant glib chatter is the bane of teachers’ lives.

The chatty brats try to make out that the quiet ones, the introverts and those with self-control, are somehow outsiders who are not willing to conform. Whereas those with common sense who live mindfully think the chatter’s are bleating sheep.

I catch phrases like;

‘Did you see Corrie last night?’

‘Did you hear about…’

‘She said…’

It reminds me of the quote about gossip from Socrates. The three filters –

Is it true?

Is it useful?

Is it good or kind?

If it doesn’t pass all three then don’t bother telling me!

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.

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.

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!

Nothing!

Sunday 9th August 2026.

Sometimes spending a day doing nothing is a really good idea!

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 13^th 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.

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.