A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times


On attending my first ever French Language class at the tender age of eleven, the brave teacher kindly asserted that "Every one of you will be able to speak French on leaving this school!" 

It was an idle threat of course, it must have been, and it was later proven to be so, by the fact that very few of us left our school actually speaking ENGLISH, let alone French.

Other idle threats we heard included the Maths teacher's optimism that one day we would all find a need for Algebra, or the PE teacher's claim that we would eventually come to fully appreciate the rules of modern Cricket.

Yes, I know I am most likely a cynic, and probably atypical of the sterling generation produced by my Grammar School education back in the early 70s, but unlike those high-achieving others who, to this very day, no doubt calculate the Test Scores in French using Algebra on a daily basis, I didn't really see the point.

And maybe, had I spent more time listening, and a little less time actually sneering at my betters, then maybe, just maybe, I'd be an internet millionaire by now, rather than just an insignificant ten-a-penny blogger that no-one ever reads.

However, there is still hope for me it seems.

For example, in the Evening News Quick Crossword today, I came across question 9 down to which it was asked, "Abrasive Sheet, 5, 5”.

The answer (which I actually knew) was: "Emery Cloth".               RESULT!!!

So there you go. At long last! That's five tenuous years of uninspired Metalworking finally justified!

Thank you very much to my metalwork teacher Mr Milner, I have clearly remembered more than the fact that your fingernails were permanently ingrained with industrial grime!

And once again, another of my normally redundant O’levels have finally become worth something.


Call us naive if you must, but the highlight of being in the metalwork shop at such a tender age, surely had to be the simple asking of somebody to “Pass me the bastard file!”

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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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