'Me I go from one extreme to another.'
A man with a pretty girl in his arms. Swooning. In a suit. Firing a gun. Fry ! Martin Fry. 1982. Those were the days. I was in my last year at Secondary School. My best subject was always English. I had the best teacher. Dai Pring. A Welshman with red hair and a cool moustache. Funny. He made our lessons an event. But he taught us too. Got us to read the books..Encouraged us to think. Not all teachers do.
I sat next to my best friend. Then and now. Philip. I'm going to see him on Thursday..Behind us were Nicky Purslow and David O'Connor. Banter. Innocence. We thought we knew it all but we knew nothing. Nicky loved The Beatles. Kept his thoughts to himself ., But always funny.
David was a Scouser. Almost unintelligible to our South London Middle Class ears. I seem to recall him saying his dad had been a friend of Lennon's . He was a clown. But loveable. A good heart.
Everybody watched Top of the Pops. Every week. Then talked about it in class the day afterwards. It was the days before a thousand channels but nothing on. ABC seemed to be on every other week. Ridiculous, orchestrated dance routines. Martin's slick patter into the camera.
David did the routine to a tee on a Friday morning. Curled his hair up into a quiff and did Martin's rap in English class on Friday afternoon.. You didn't think in terms of weekend in those days. Life was one continuous blur. 'Who broke my heart... you did, you did... Shoot that poison arrow...'
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