Probably the longest continuing friendship of my lifetime outside of my family is a guy called Garth. We met at Primary School with a couple of others I'm still in touch with over fifty years later. Hallowed turf of childhood. My parents moved down from Nottingham to Richmond, all seven of us. I started to go to Vineyard Primary School. A twenty minute walk up Richmond Hill. Mount Ararat. The road to Primary School heaven.
A playground full of screaming kids. Football. Conkers. Genuine innocence even though some of course came from families where parents were splitting up. In one case a good friend of mine in the picture here a mother dying tragically young.Poor guy. Of course you never know what's happening in other people's homes.But you're in a shell of your own experience at that age. Oblivious. We were mostly fairly privelidged. The rude shock was secondary school a couple of years down the line. An entre into the real world.
But personally at this point of my life I realise now I was blessed My own personal trials came later. That's a tale for anther day. Good times , bad times. I realise now as I head towards sixty that the important thing was the happy start. My parents sheltered me from the world. That's all you can hope for. I'm grateful..
I reconnected with Garth on social media about fifteen years back. We have names that help you realise instantly, ' Yeah I know that guy. We go back...' I've met up with him a couple of times since. One time in a concerted attempt at a Primary School reunion when it turned out to be just us but that didn't matter in the slightest.
We met on Richmond Hill. To raise a pint to those days. Relive our youth and share an experience on a beuatifully sunny evening sitting above Richmond Park, looking down to Petersham Meadows where later I used to go into Secondary School late at 16 as I made my way towards O Levels I hadn't really revised for. There was less pressure back then.
I didn't drink on our reunion. I don't much anymore. But Garth had a few pints and the beer, as beers do, did its work. He got dewy eyed and nostalgic. Particularly about absent friends. The fallen. But nostalgia though if you're still alive is mostly a happy glade. A wonderful path. I'm prone to it myself. Find myself more prone with the passing years.
We talked about music. The glorious soundtrack of our youths, Wire. Killing Joke. Associates. At a certain point Garth got to his feet and muttered. 'I don't think much of....Belle & Sebastian.'He almost spat it. . I couldn't help smiling. Involuntary. I was taken aback. Not just becaise It was so unlike Garth. He's such a good bloke. But also at the object of his disadain. Belle & Sebastian. They seem so unobjectionable.
We wandered down the hill and said our goodbyes. Until the next time. For the record I love Belle & Sebastian. I'm listening to The Boy With The Arab Strap now. They're a band that seemed to arrive ahead of the curve. In the CD and Imternet age and just before Napster broke music open forever like an egg being cracked unto a basin of flour, salt and sugar, - making all music open for everybody forever and musicians in peril when previously you'd had to work damned hard to harvest Rock & Roll's secrets.It's all there for you now.
It's all there on The Boy. You just have to unwrap it. Simon & Garfunkel,The Velvet Underground, The Left Banke, The Lovin Spoonful. CBGB's Orange Juice, Felt. The fact that they could only possibly be from Glasgow, The ghost of Gregory's Girl. I'm sorry Garth. But I love Belle & Sebastian.They always make me feel warm. Wire of course are great and they're yours .
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