Pressure.
That’s the main memory on my first day of middle school. Not mental pressure. That was to come later. It was the pressure from the bodies of other boys pushing hard in a scrum towards the door. The entrance, [by a door?] leading to a cloakroom, and it was dark inside and the glass had a criss-cross wire mesh so if it smashed it would stay in one piece. And it was a real chance to have that happening as you pushed in the same direction. I don’t know why we were doing that, because none of us wanted to be there. I guess it was curiosity.
I got pushed from the side. I turned and there was an angry boy smiling at me menacingly, and he accused me of pushing him, which was absurd because we were in a scrum where everybody was being pushed to move directions. I denied it and he insisted, and immediately a circle formed around us as people gave us space to see if this would escalate into a fight. I didn’t know this at the time because I’d just come from the lower school, but in the middle school, as soon as there’s a real fight, there’s a crowd of children all around crying:
Scrap! Scrap! Scrap!
I mean, maybe everybody knew this, but not me. The problem was the crowd, probably, as it wouldn’t have happened otherwise because it wasn’t possible to back down, which is what I was trying to do. Surrounded by this sea of boys in oversized uniforms and perfect shiny shoes shining at me, I eyed my assailant. It was a white boy I’d later find out was called Keith. He told me that he does martial arts. He had some belts; he wasn’t a black belt, I don’t remember the colour, but it must have been quite impressive, but he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Well, he took a step towards me and I couldn’t really back away. That wasn’t going well for me.
Suddenly, there was a huge dark figure to my right. It kind of stood in front of me, between me and my assailant, and the next thing I know, my assailant goes down to the floor. There’s a big black kid, at least a foot taller than everybody else, standing next to him, shouting racist insults [I didn’t catch?]. Then the doors managed to get pushed open, pushing aside pupils like a boat going through the ocean cutting the surf, and an angry-looking old woman with the appearance of a librarian came out and started shouting. Everybody backed away except the black kids, and nobody would actually explain what had happened because none of us wanted to be a grass. Keith stayed on the floor moaning, and the black boy was already inside. I could hear everybody whispering behind me, speculating what had happened, and the consensus seemed to be that I got pushed, and I’d hit him and he’d gone down. I saw the impressed stares and I didn’t bother arguing. I just went inside.
The whole day was actually a stroke of luck. My new saviour was Yomi, an African kid, the toughest kid in school with one hell of a chip on his shoulder. Anything directed towards him that wasn’t 100% positive was immediately labelled racism. And he was not scared in the slightest of taking people on, including getting into shouting matches with teachers, being so much taller and broader than everybody else. And he hung around town at the weekends with these older cool black adults who’d carry stereos around blasting music and smelling like drugs. Because I’m Eurasian, anytime anybody did anything to me, it was immediately assumed to be race-related, and Yomi was there for me. Although we didn’t hang out directly, he kept an eye on me. I could feel him protecting me for those first two years. Looking back, it was one of the very few positive things. In fact, the whole period is just negative. Maybe I should get these positive things out of the way first, and then at least the rest of the chapters are going to be consistent.
I’ve got two happy memories from the middle school. One is Army. I mean, playing Army games, and it’s all down to one boy: Jason Marston (M-A-R-S-T-O-N). We’d be just milling around in the field, really, locked out at playtime. And he’d start racing around the playground shouting:
Who wants to play Army? No girls allowed! Who wants to play Army? No girls allowed! Who wants to play Army? No girls allowed!
And eventually, a boy would come up and put his arm around him, and they’d be walking around chanting it together, arm in arm. And then another, and another, until there was a line of boys, arm in arm, so strong, just sweeping the whole field, stepping over the girls—we often stepped on top of girls on purpose. Then eventually Jason said, “That’s it.” And he was the organiser. I wonder what he’s doing today. He’d pick two people to come out to be the leaders, and they pick two teams. Then there was a big argument ’cause it was always English and Germans, and no one wants to be the Germans, but it was basically up to Jason. Then he put us in positions and explained the complex rules about getting shot and getting tagged, and rules about pulling jumpers—that you could pull them but you’re not allowed to pull them so they’d get out of shape, or we’d get in trouble and have to stop playing the game. And I would forget my surroundings, and we would be on the battlefield in 1940, far away from the hell it became at that school. And you had friends and comrades in the bunkers and the trenches. You’d get shot and murdered, but someone could just run over and tap you up, and you’re good to keep going. And every time the school whistle rang and it was time to go back in, it was like a death knell.
The other happy memory I’ve got is when they were on strike. There were often teachers’ strikes, say, over lunchtime, and because there was no staff on premises to supervise students for insurance purposes, you got kicked out. So I got extra dinner money, and everybody went up to the same Bootville chip shop. It was up maybe 200 metres north of the school, and there’s a little precinct nearby where there were just three or four shops. It’s in a suburban place, but Bootville chip shop was actually run by a Vietnamese couple. But they must have done that—excuse me, my mouth is watering just thinking of those days, laying on the grass outside eating those perfect fish and chips. And then there was the big debate of who’s going to go back to school, and who’s going to go in a big group on the bus together and bunk off, because we were going to hate it so much. That was one thing that defined us, is we all hated it. None of us wanted to be there. But I looked back, and I saw a Facebook group recently, kind of a reunion where people were reminiscing, people from that time, and I recognised some names. And I realised I thought I was one of us who hated it, but there was something about me that made it even darker. And I think during that time, just the seeds were laid for the darkness that was already there, that I never really crawled back from. Now I’m sitting here by myself in the deserted red light district in a dirty part of town in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. And although it’s not the best life I’ve ever lived, there is nothing in the world that would drag me back to that awful time of my life.
I entered that school with a kind of innocence still attached to me. On the very first day, I avoided the beating. But the day I left, four years later, I was completely beaten in all ways and every way. And I’d spend much of my life around the globe with magic and the occult and life and spirituality, trying to recover from it.
Pressure.
That’s the main memory from my first day of middle school. Not the mental kind. That was to come later. This was physical — the pressure of other boys’ bodies, a scrum pushing hard towards a door. The entrance to the main building. Dark inside. The glass had a criss-cross wire mesh so that if it smashed, it would hold, which was a real consideration, given the force being applied. I don’t know why we were pushing; none of us wanted to be there. Curiosity, maybe. The pull of the new thing even when the new thing is a threat.
I got shoved from the side. I turned. A boy was standing scowling at me. He accused me of pushing him, which was absurd. We were in a scrum. Everyone was pushing. I denied it and he insisted, and immediately a circle formed, boys peeling back to give us room, to see if this would go further.
Cool no I don’t like this part I like to how I wrote it but it’s a bunch of boys starting showing scrap I need to be explained. I didn’t know this yet, but in middle school, the word moves fast. Scrap. Scrap. Scrap. A fight draws a crowd in seconds. I’d just come from lower school. I didn’t know the rules. The problem with a crowd is it removes the option of backing down, which is what I was trying to do. I looked at him —dude please make a note never to use m dash is because they’re too associated with AI now thanks Keith, I later found out his name was Keith — surrounded by a sea of boys in oversized uniforms and perfect shiny new shoes. I preferred my sentence because it’s a bit meandering and I think that I’m writing this in the voice of a 10 year old so sometimes it’s a bit deliberate if it’s slightly immature you’re tidy it this up too muchHe told me he did martial arts. Some belt. Not black, but high enough that he felt it worth mentioning. He took a step towards me and I had nowhere to go.
Then something large moved to my right. A figure, stepping in front of me. The next thing I knew, Keith was on the floor and a big black kid — at least a foot taller than everyone else — was standing over him, shouting, and the shouting had a racial edge to it I didn’t fully understand yet
Maybe if there’s either a gap or the paragraph first lines could be indented after sections that would be a bit clearer Then the doors burst open, shoved from inside, pushing pupils aside like a boat through water, but it’s not about cuz it doesn’t push I think I’m thinking the front of his shit which is very big and it pushes across the surf I think my sentence was better and an angry-looking woman with the bearing of a strict librarian came out shreiking. Everyone backed away. Keith stayed on the floor. The big kid was already inside. Behind me I could hear whispers, the crowd working out what had happened, and the consensus settling: I’d been pushed, I’d hit him, he’d gone down. Impressed stares followed me in. I didn’t argue. I just went inside.
That was Yomi.
He was African, the toughest kid in school, and he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of a continent. Anything directed at him that wasn’t entirely positive was racism, and he wasn’t remotely scared of taking anyone on — teachers included, kids twice his size included. No my sentence is better there to specify that yummy would speak with shouted teachers when you just say it takes the money it’s suggesting they would hit them and he didn’t do that my sentence was better At weekends he he didn’t move he hung around I’m using the language of a he’s hung out I’m using the language of a 10 year old British school boy in the 80s moved with older black guys around town, stereos on shoulders, a smell of something drifting off them I couldn’t identify then. Because I was Eurasian, anything done to me he took as racial, and though we didn’t exactly hang out, I could feel him. He kept an eye on me for those first two years. Looking back, it was one of the very few good things in an otherwise wholly dark period.
Maybe I should get the good things out of the way first, so the rest of the chapter can be consistent. I think we need to say consistently down please not obvious the irony of what I’m saying there
There are two happy memories from middle school. The no I think that my sense is just saying army was better because something bigger than know what’s coming and simply belong that’s a very common game in England at the timefirst involves a boy called Jason Marston. It would start at break time — just milling around the field — and then Jason’s voice: Who wants to play army? No girls. Who wants to play army? That this charm is very characteristic of the time it’s a minute wouldn’t be allowed nowadays it’s very important to say it exactly as I’ve said it who wants to play army no girls allowed say it three times in italic on a separate line and in dentist so it stands out because it was a chance I remember hearing again and againAnd slowly, one by one, boys would come over, put an arm around the last boy in the line, and you’d all walk together building the chain until Jason decided there were enough. Never can my sentence is much better I need a specifically say about stepping over girls and stepping on girls because it’s very very different to what happens now and it simply wouldn’t be allowed and I’m just showing the period that I was born in you must have changed these things and make them more woke or it’s damaging the story Then two captains, you mean you need to say the word w e r e here in the sentence doesn’t make sense that’s basic grammar picked by Jason. Then the argument about Germans — nobody wanted to be Germans no they can this doesn’t make sense at all you got to leave it as I’ve done it because I’m explaining that it was always two sides if my book sold around the world some people don’t even know about the second World war I explained that there are two signs in the English and Germans so this is not going to be understood the way you’re saying it you must change that back to what I’ve done — and somehow Jason resolved it. He had a gift for that. He put us in positions and explained the rules: rules about getting shot, about tagging, about jumpers that could be used as flags but couldn’t be stretched out of shape or you’d be in trouble. And then the game started, and I forgot everything. We were in France, in 1944, and there were comrades and bunkers and trenches and you could get shot but someone could sprint over and revive you and you were back I think here put in a bit about it’s even kids that usually wouldn’t like you or wouldn’t hang out with you I quite happy to come and take you alive if you’re on their side because you’re one of them just for the game. Every time the school whistle went it was like a death sentence. Little death sentence I think my my writing is better there
The second good memory is the strikes. Teachers struck often enough that over lunch they had to clear the premises — insurance, apparently, meant no staff meant no students on site this day sentence doesn’t flow mine was better you’re changing far far too much and you’re changing it for the worst throughout this. So we got extra dinner money and everyone walked up to the same chip shop, maybe two hundred metres north of the school. It was actually run by a Vietnamese couple but they knew their market. I can still taste those chips. Maybe here we have actually put I’m sitting in now in the red light district in Phnom Penh quietly by myself and that’s something vinegar taste makes my mouth water now and that way I’m injecting my pressing into the by a little bit what do you think Lying on the grass outside with a bag of them, the big debate every time being whether to go back or get on a bus and just not. No I preferred my sentence cuz I use the word bank which is very British that’s what we said I was you changed the language away from the way I was speaking We all hated that place. But when I found a reunion group on Facebook recently, and saw the names, and saw people being nostalgic — I realised it wasn’t the same for everyone. There was something that made it darker for me. Something that was already there, already planted, that I never really came back from.
Now I’m sitting alone in a deserted part of Kep, Cambodia. It isn’t the best night I’ve ever had. There’s nothing in the world that would drag me back to that time. I’m in camport I mean sorry I mean phenom 10 at the minute pH n o m p e h n and the area that the school was in when I was a kid was b o o t h b i l l e
Pressure.
That’s the main memory on my first day of middle school. Not mental pressure. That was to come later. It was the pressure from the bodies of other boys pushing hard in a scrum towards the door. The entrance to buy a year leading to a cloakroom and it was dark inside and the glass had a criss cross wire mesh so if he smashed he would stay more deep and it was a real chance to have that happening as you pushed in the same direction I don’t know why we were doing that because none of us wanted to be there I guess it was curiosity.
I got pushed from the side I turned and there was an angry boy smiling at me menacingly and he accused me of pushing him which was absurd because we were in a scrum where everybody was being pushed to move directions. I denied it and he insisted and immediately a circle formed around us as people gave us space to see if this would escalate into a fight. I didn’t know this at the time because I just come from the love at school but in the middle school as soon as there’s a real fight there’s a crowd of children all around trying scrap scr scr ap scrap scrap scrap I might be everybody knew this but not me. The problem was that practice probably as it wouldn’t have happened otherwise because it wasn’t possible to back down which is what I was trying to do. Surrounded by the sea of boys in oversized uniforms and perfect shiny shoes shining at me I hide my assailant it was a white boy I’d like to find out was called Keith. He told me that he does martial arts he had some bills he wasn’t a black belt I don’t remember the color but it must have been quite impressive but he wouldn’t have mentioned it well he took a step towards me and I couldn’t really back away that wasn’t going well for me.
Sydney there was a huge dark figure to my right it kind of stood in front of me between me and my sailing and the next thing I know he’s saying goes down to the floor there’s a big black kid at least a foot taller than everybody else standing next to him shouting racing insults I didn’t the doors managed to get pushed open pushing aside pupils like a boat going through the ocean cutting the surf and a angry looking old woman with the appearance of a librarian came out and started shouting. Everybody backed away except the black kids and nobody would actually explain what had happened because none of us wanted to go grass. Keith stayed on the floor moaning and the black boy was already inside I can hear everybody whispering behind me speculating what had happened and the consensus seem to be that I got pushed and I’d hit him and he’d gone down I saw the impressed stairs and I didn’t bother arguing I just went inside.
The whole day was actually a stroke of luck my new favor was y o m i an African kid the toughest kid in school with one hell of a chip on his shoulder anything directed towards him that wasn’t 100% positive was immediately they would racism and he was not scared in the slightest and taking people on including getting into shouting matches with children being so much taller and broader than everybody else and he hang around town at the weekends with these other cool black adults it carry stereos around blasting music and smelling like drugs because I’m Eurasian anytime anybody did anything to me he was immediately assumed to be race related and yummy was there for me although we didn’t hang out directly he kept an eye on me I could feel him and protect me for those first two years looking back it was one of the very few positive things in fact the whole period is just a negative maybe I should see these positive things out of the way first and then at least the rest of the chapters going to be consistent.
I got two happy memories from the middle School one is army I mean playing army games and it’s all down to one boy Jason Marston m a r s t o n little bit just milling around in the field really locked up play time and it’s not tracing around the playground shouting who wants to pay on me no girls allowed who wants to play army no girls alone he wants to pay on me no girls around and eventually a boy would come up and put his arm around and meant to be walking around chanting it together on me now and then another and another until there was a line of boy’s arm in arms so strong just sucking the whole field stepping over the girls we often stepping on top of girls on purpose did eventually Jason said that’s it and he was the organizer I wonder what he’s doing today it’s been two people get two people out to be the leaders and they pick two teams then there was a big argument cuz if it’s always English and Germans and no one wants to be the Germans but it was basically at the Jason then he put us in positions and explain the complex rules about getting shot and getting tagged any rules about putting jumpers and you could pull them but you’re not allowed to pull them so that out of shape when we get in trouble and let me stop playing the game and I would forget my surroundings and we would be on the battlefield in 1940 far away from the hell it became that school and you had friends and comrades in the bunkers and the trenches you get shot and murdered but someone could just run over and take you up and you’re good to keep going and every time the school whistle running it was time to go back in it was like a death Note for the other happy memory I’ve got is when they were on strike they’re often teachers drive say over lunch time and because there were no star for premises his students the insurance purposes so you got kicked out so I got extra dinner money and everybody went up to the same bootville chip shop and it was up maybe 200 meters north of the school and there’s a little feeling by there was just three or four shots it’s in a suburban place but Google chip shop it’s actually run by the Vietnamese couple but they must have done that excuse me my local because my mouth’s watering just thinking of those days laying on the grass outside eating those perfect fish and chips and then there was the big debate of he’s going to go back to school and he’s going to go in a big group on the bus together and Bangkok because we’re going to hate it so much that was one thing to find it as we all hate today none of us wanted to be there but I look back and I saw her Facebook group recently kind of a reunion where people reminiscing people from that time and I recognize some names and I realized I thought I was one of us hated it there was something about me that made it even darker and I think doing that time just to see the seeds related for darkness that was already there that I never really called back from now I’m sitting here by myself in the deserted red light district in the third part of town in colon pain Cambodia another is not the best night of ever lived there is nothing in the world that would drag me back to the awful time with my life.
I entered that school babe I kind of innocent still attached to me I’m in the very first day I avoided the beating but the day I left 4 years later I was completely beaten in always and anyway that I’d spend much of my life around the globe with magic in the account and a life and spirituality trying to recover from.
—
Pressure.
That is the main memory of my first day of middle school. Not mental pressure. That was to come later. It was the physical pressure from the bodies of other boys pushing hard in a scrum towards the door. The entrance led to a cloakroom and it was dark inside. The glass had a criss-cross wire mesh so that if it smashed it would stay together. It was a real consideration, given the force being applied as we pushed in the same direction. I don’t know why we were doing it because none of us wanted to be there. I guess it was curiosity. The pull of the new thing even when the new thing is a threat.
I got pushed from the side. I turned and there was an angry boy scowling at me menacingly. He accused me of pushing him, which was absurd because we were in a scrum where everybody was being pushed in every direction. I denied it and he insisted. Immediately a circle formed around us as people gave us space to see if this would escalate into a fight. I didn’t know this at the time because I’d just come from lower school, but in middle school, the word moves fast. Scrap. Scrap. Scrap. A fight draws a crowd in seconds.
The problem with a crowd was that the fight probably wouldn’t have happened otherwise. It removed the option of backing down, which is what I was trying to do. Surrounded by a sea of boys in oversized uniforms and perfect shiny shoes, I looked at my assailant. It was a white boy I later found out was called Keith. He told me that he did martial arts. He had some belt. It wasn’t a black belt, but he felt it was worth mentioning. He took a step towards me and I had nowhere to go.
Suddenly a huge dark figure moved to my right. It stepped in front of me, between me and my assailant. The next thing I knew, Keith was on the floor. A big black kid, at least a foot taller than everyone else, was standing over him shouting. The shouting had a racial edge to it that I didn’t fully understand yet.
Then the doors burst open, shoved from the inside, pushing pupils aside like a boat through the ocean cutting the surf. An angry-looking woman with the bearing of a strict librarian came out shrieking. Everyone backed away except the black kid. Nobody would explain what had happened because none of us wanted to grass. Keith stayed on the floor moaning and the black boy was already inside. Behind me I could hear the crowd whispering, working out what had happened. The consensus settled: I’d been pushed, I’d hit him, and he’d gone down. Impressed stares followed me in. I didn’t argue. I just went inside.
That was Yomi.
He was African, the toughest kid in school, and he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of a continent. Anything directed at him that wasn’t 100% positive was immediately viewed as racism. He wasn’t remotely scared of taking anyone on, including getting into shouting matches with teachers. At weekends he hung out around town with older black guys, carrying stereos on their shoulders and smelling of something drifting off them I couldn’t identify then. Because I was Eurasian, anything done to me he took as race-related. Although we didn’t exactly hang out, I could feel him. He kept an eye on me for those first two years. Looking back, it was one of the very few positive things in an otherwise wholly dark period.
Maybe I should get the happy memories out of the way first so the rest of the chapter can be consistent. There are two happy memories from middle school.
The first involves a boy called Jason Marston. It would start at break time, just milling around the field, and then Jason’s voice would rise up.
Who wants to play army? No girls allowed.
Who wants to play army? No girls allowed.
Who wants to play army? No girls allowed.
Slowly, one by one, boys would come over and put an arm around the last boy in the line. You would all walk together building the chain until Jason decided there were enough. We would be a line of boys, arms linked, stepping over girls and often stepping on them on purpose. Then two captains were picked by Jason. Then there was the argument about Germans. Nobody wanted to be the Germans, but Jason always resolved it. He had a gift for that. He put us in positions and explained the rules: rules about getting shot, about tagging, and about how you could use jumpers as flags but you weren’t allowed to stretch them out of shape or you’d be in trouble.
And then the game started and I forgot everything. we were in France in 1944. There were comrades and bunkers and trenches. You could get shot, but someone you didn’t even like would sprint over and “revive” you just because you were on their side for the game. Every time the school whistle went, it was like a little death sentence.
The second good memory is the strikes. Teachers struck often enough that over lunch they had to clear the premises. Because there were no staff, insurance meant no students could be on site. We got extra dinner money and everyone walked up to the Boothville chip shop about two hundred metres north of the school. It was run by a Vietnamese couple.
I’m sitting now in a deserted part of the red light district in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and the thought of that vinegar taste makes my mouth water. We would lie on the grass outside with a bag of chips, debating whether to go back or get on a bus together and “bunk off” because we hated that place so much. When I found a reunion group on Facebook recently and saw people being nostalgic, I realised it wasn’t the same for everyone. There was something that made it darker for me. Something was already there, already planted, that I never really came back from.
I entered that school with a kind of innocence still attached to me. On that first day, I avoided a beating. But by the day I left four years later, I was completely beaten in every way. I have spent much of my life traveling the globe with magic and spirituality, trying to recover from it.
In your youth the passage of life is neatly divided into years of school or grades as they say in America a neatly packaged one year period better events and your happiness or the lack thereof laundry revolves around the personality of the one who’s supposed to be educating you – although that was never the case in my youth.
In terms of school that first year was nondescript. I was in Mrs Beales class and the fact she was nondescript it’s really the best thing it really makes her the best of all of them in that are effect on me with zero which is better than any of the others. It’s funny to be sitting now in my fifties looking at the river in Camborne I can remember every single name. Titchener. Barker frost (2 years) beale dearlove piggot Jenkins and pigney (technically 3 years but I stopped going to school at 14).
In Beales . Nothing significant happened at school except the intense boredom. In a way I’d fell on my feet. I was staying with my aunt and uncle and they were better than my mother, calmer, Richard muserba no violin less racist they had three cats and they lived in a sweet shop.
It’s not just the teacher that defines each period of childhood but the boy that you sit next to although I didn’t apply to me for that first year because he was Gary wearing a gay 9-year-old that I didn’t particularly get on with. Each year of middle School first year second year third year fourth year had his own little win in a square building and each wing had two classrooms so you get some variety occasionally you’d swap to the other teacher for example in that first year it’s the Holdsworth would take the English class in the English class as it ended up nobody sat with me I was the only single desk and instead straight out the window onto a little courtyard where the school greenhouse was there that meant in my back was to the rest of the pupils and the teacher and that suited me fine because I could read horror novels for the whole lesson.
It makes me angry now because I remember the book I was supposed to be reading which was basically for retards I can’t remember if I’ve been put into a special class but I wouldn’t be reading horror novels that James urban and Gary Brangler. A reading proficiency was so high when we went to the boat on holidays I’d be allowed to book and I need to ration reading it so he wouldn’t go too quickly it wasn’t uncommon for me to read the really good books like rats or the howling in one day start at 10:00 a.m. when we go back from the newsagents where we bought it from 10 that I was page before the senate going down. But the ladies at school just decided that boys aren’t going to reading even when they are and they need to be put in a special class looking back I’m really angry about that now honest with nothing and never a good grade I never any encouragement but as an adult I got two university degrees I’ve got these graphic memories for example when I did my swimming certificate one length of the pool was 25 m and five lengths was 100 the next certificate up and I basically taught myself to swim the women teachers wouldn’t teach boys he would just left to play because boys are seen as roundy but I managed to just teach myself a doggy paddle so I decided to get the certificate and I got the specific memory of swimming the length of the pool easily and when I turned around to do the second nap of being held back on purpose it’s not going to be popular for me to say this but the women were there to keep our wings and make sure the girls could soar.
Staring at that greenhouse was actually the high point at the middle school because of the books no because of the greenhouse but I had the same problem as on the boat I’d read the books too quickly another one I was supposed to read the one with people being murdered or psychopaths stalking with demons rising up from hell.
When the book was finished then the boredom would set in I remember my digital watch at the time the very first one I had in 1975 you have to press the button and a little red wire would show you the time but then the LCD always on time and my wife had a stopwatch and I pretended it was a game and I had to try and stop the time on a certain number and I was exciting as digital games got when I was a kid but he was selling to do and another thing was I could look at the screen in a certain way and the sky would reflect on it and I would pretend there was a TV watch and I think in the future when I’m a man then I’ll be TVs on watches and I’ll be able to buy them and watch it and go whatever I want they’re not up to sit look at the quiet greenhouse wasn’t even a good greenhouse was emptying with the plants were dead because their kid wanted to plant things wasn’t fun.
I’m 55 instead I’m going to my TV watch I guess I could have TV in my phone as I’m sitting here looking at the river in Cambodia but I’m talking into my phone tell me the story of my I’m what I want to say is that that memory is no near memory it’s a lifetime of study spirituality and awakening I know my mind is a place and sometimes I’m mostly in this world and sometimes I mostly there but that boy see me at the greenhouse looking at his watch and pretending that he’s where I am now he’s still there he still existing in another realm in another reality and I can look back at him and I wish I could talk to him and tell him what’s coming I wish I could send somebody back but I can cuz it says the dreaming and imagining people that aren’t there imagining the way things are going to be I could send back Phoung.
He said staring at the greenhouse and there’s some scrawny scruffy little Vietnamese lady matted hair beautiful folded eyes a cheap dress once would have been sexy but now I was dirty and ripped feet black and from walking without shoes all day talking to herself babbling completely crazy completely alone in the world and she doesn’t know anybody but she knows my name mine’s The only name that she knows although she doesn’t care about me she’s everything to me in a way he can look at it now and he thinks it is just daydreaming and fantasizing just some crazy Asian lady that entered his mind for no reason any projected her out and superimposed are over the gray monotonous dristing rain scene of the greenhouse but I actually sent back this gem of my life this gem of connection as a sign for what’s coming listen Jay don’t let these bastards all grind you down you’re reading that book because you are so smart and you love you darkness and the stories and the psychopaths and the ghouls and the monsters cos you’re drawn to a deeper secret reality because you know there’s a truth of awakening there and there’s a life that’s calling you and it’s just as strong as any calling that the priest or the monk or the nun feels just gets through those stupid glasses and that wretched time and that awful part of life because there’s a much greater reality calling to you and I’m here now in the future and another realm and I hope you see it soon that all the dreams in your mind are real like you’re real there and you don’t know that your existing in my mind and you don’t know that you’re my past in the same way back then I didn’t know that I’d be my future and the way all these realities are going to open over the coming 40 years.
The first day of the second year couldn’t have been any more different. First thing there was no scrub outside the year door none of us are curious we knew it was inside and none of us wanted to be there. When the tools did open there was a certain scramble to get into the new classroom and pick to see you on it and I’m not sure why because what difference did it make. Looking back I think there was three classes in that year and Gary wasn’t in my class and I looked around and I didn’t know anybody in the new cars but there was a desk in the middle not too close to the teacher so I just sat there I was happy that at least I wouldn’t have to join somebody I can see who come to me.
Who came to me was Colin Toal. I don’t know why you came to me because I was kind of The quiet nerdy kid and he was kind of the really hard sporty tough kid. I was taking it back I specifically said to him I’m sitting here and he said yeah I know so am I now and sat down and I thought well okay. Even now I’ve got no idea why did that. I think for the first few weeks we spoke okay like friends but maybe you realize then it never noticed me before and I kind of wasn’t any of the cool kids I was nerdy kid and he turned on me for no reason it sit there recently abusing me and complain that he’s got to sit with me I mean if we have to play outside in sports he’s dive in front of me and say that I found him I just tried to turn people against me it was all racially it was he doesn’t want to sit next to this fucking packy how much is packing got to sit there and I wasn’t a very eloquent boy I was quiet I didn’t know how to fight back and say something like you chose to sit with me.
But I did make a little friend group away from him. It actually nasty 2 years and in different ways didn’t really negative it was life-changing.
I don’t think I had a close friend that year largely because of calling to give you an idea how bad it was for the summer holiday we went off to the boat in Ely and I spent the time fishing and messing about only thing he with my dog and enjoying the cathedral but more than anything just reading horrible books everyday horrible book on the back of the boat with the fishing rod but sometimes I get fish and I’d be selling grossed in the chapter I just keep reading then ignore the fish. The boat was more next to this little apple order crab apple trees and a dog turned up that was it we were living in my own sweet shop and my mother would turn up late to pick me up to take me back to the shop and then she’d go back to the pub where she was working and Monday she said oh that’s a surprise and you get back and I was like what is it she’s no you get away then you’ll see I said no tell me she wouldn’t she reaches sat there in silence and then she said without thinking well you’ll have to feed it of course and walk it I said oh my God is it a dog and I got home and there was this little collie dog it was going to be put down somebody brought into the shop and my aunt took it on and that was my dog for about a couple of hours until my own stay taking everything over and she said I wasn’t allowed to walking in case it ran away and I wasn’t enough to give it a name cuz you already decided if it’s going to be but he was going to be cold and I did get to play ball with it sometimes but it’s like everything she was such an overbearing woman that was immediately her dog but when we were off on the boat you nearly then it was my dog too and we went into the top of the lordship not imagine being in some magical forest and even up and down the River on the boat and every now and again kids will be screaming about the fucking packing on the boat this is back in the early 80s when they went really a lot of Asian people around these non city areas but apart from that it was ideally it’s my only happy memories of Britain just drifting around on that boat and meals and little Riverside pubs increasing up and down the River and fishing the more than anything the books the werewolves and the ghouls and the murderers and the rat invasions and the possessed people often this dark of the worlds.
But after the 6 weeks was up I’ve got two memories One is laying in the apple orchard and I found a rock and I’d seen something on TV similar in the film so I balance my shit in across two pieces of wood and remember smashing my center the center of my shin is hard as possible to see if I could break the bone and get a week off school another one is laying on the carpet in my aunt’s shop just me and the dog and I’m holding on to dog crying cuz I don’t want to go back to school and now I’m sitting in carport 40 years later looking at the river and I want to cry again in the memory and I’ll send someone back he lays there and he thinks that he’s just daydreaming looking through the tears imagining somebody there who can I send what great memory for my life can I send back to that sad broken boy in the past lying on the carpet holding on to a dog and weeping into his fur listen back Harry beautiful Harry with the Chinese Khmer face light skin the friendliest face I ever saw completely crazy talking and muttering and hallucinating and smiling and affectionate and holding me that smell none of it yours and I swear she had some phobia about salary literally I saw going to the shower with all of the clothes on and come out dripping wet before she joined me always affectionate always smiling and then she lost the temper almost every hotel in put on paint new and bought it was hard taking it somewhere because nobody wants to check her in their reputation but if you knew it the way that I knew it I’m being so comfortable within sanity by that point I might one of the few people that did know her then there was such a warmth and kindness inside that madness and there she is laying down on the floor with the smell of a sweat and a blood and she holds on to that boy the three of them the three of those bodies on the carpet raining against their life at that point and feel so it feels some of that spark inside of it it feels so much I feel bad things feel something he just carries on wants to be dead but he needs to stay alive.
It’s funny thinking about that teacher now I’m sitting in their cars and there was me control over Jason buster through that ways that we could get it I’m not with any Jason’s idea to get our mind of the other idea which was kidding ourselves and it was so bad and there was such hatred and I can’t remember what he actually did that we didn’t mind like.
I can’t remember which year it was that I started reading prediction magazine cause my aunt’s got a sweet shop but it’s not a sweet shop it’s a sweet shop in the eyes for 9-year-old in the eyes of an adult it’s a newsagent and a gift shop I’m one of those new convenience shops it looks chaotic but it sounds pretty much anything that you could run out of and it also books and magazines and the only magazine I was interested in which prediction which would say on the front proudly something like published since 1924 and it was a mix of astrology and tyrant and magic with a k and New age subjects but it was mostly quite hard and cold and it was a great introduction every month I look forward to try and asking you thing like using a crystal ball with tarot cards or trying to read my aunt’s Palm she didn’t really like me doing that kind of thing she wasn’t super religious but she didn’t like it she felt it with the dark cops but I was so so drawn to it I still am the deep deep part of who I am I mentioned it now because he comes so Central and that magazine of course I spent my life everywhere and I came back to England in my thirties and that magazine had become just some stupid woman’s magazine about astrology magical cooking but back then you could sell the magazine in this largely about hard serious or cold practice in the same way in the town center there was in a culture the skulls and powders and ones in town center not in the exact town center but not in side street there was enough business for that to survive because I wasn’t allowed in it but if I had been allowed in town I would have been there and I look forward to entering those mysterious doors and when I did it was another life changing event
I think she was the third year so I would have been 11 and there’s nothing serious memory except it prompts wasn’t as bad because Colin didn’t sit with me I said with Kevin Richards he was just not great and not bad just not nasty and that was good enough and Mr pigney was the main sports teacher and he wasn’t particularly cruel and he wasn’t particularly aggressive and the single memory of God that year of my life is about Ms Lovett’s class she used to she’s the woman that came out shouting that very first day when you hear me hit key but she was actually one of the year teachers in the third year and she’s been a large part of their classes when she came in to teach us just reading from a novel and she read very well and Kevin enjoyed it too and my memory is him looking at me saying I love it with miss love it and I don’t remember any other crazy thing you said except you like this word please he’s like to go up the children’s desks and hold up their pen and say I love your pen is.
So the scorecard is two variable years and one bad year and it sounds like I’m going to survive this and get through and it’s not too bad but that last year’s the year when things all completely fell apart I would have been 12 which makes it 1982 or 1983 I would love to go back and look at my chart to see where Pluto was because I don’t know where it is maybe I’ll look it up and then you know but I can tell you now that that time you would not have been in a good place right now cuz he was basically the year that broke me that the cracks in life appeared that never fully got better.
And I do remember the first day it’s funny how you can be in one year and you really close to some kid and then when you were rush into the new year you end up just by chance sitting next to somebody else and not friendship pretty much ends and you’re pretty much start a new one and I was sitting next to Paul Paul married yet and we both got on really well about Thursday we didn’t really know each other so he kind of sat there inside and the teacher came in Mrs Jenkins and maybe this was a foreshadow of what was going to happen but the kids were sitting around and talking and it was a very good mood and she sat down and she looked like she was about to talk and sent me stopped and glad straight at me but she said are you doing something like no because I wasn’t I thought it was she said no well I think he was a piece of paper like I just turned off a little piece of paper and kind of shoot on it that you do sometimes I still do that now again but I wasn’t making a video send me your barely see you know you could have thought it was a bit of chewie come on something and it was a break time so it was okay to be chewing but she just suddenly standard desk and screamed at the top of the voice are you chewing something now to realize that I was doing something I actually moved my mouth to chew it to realize there was something in my mouth yeah I am and she just green wine why why do you think you can do that why’d you think you can be here chewing something she was screaming and hysterical and the whole concert just gone dead so she scream get up get out of the car so I stood up and shock and went to leave but then she was screaming you can’t leave the class spit it out spit it out spit it out and I’m looking around in panic and I don’t know what to spin and some girl I don’t even know just looked at me with Brian sad eyes and in kindness just pointed to some waste paper bin every without thinking a spot straight into it and This woman’s treat days spit like that that race baby been out there so I took place and put it outside the door but she just sat in absolute silence with a red face glaring and I didn’t know if I should say I didn’t know if I should stand I sent you like her to my city I could barely speak I was traveling so much and she just said nothing she left me to feel about awkward and eventually I sat down but she said it’s desperate moment took a deep breath and carried on.
No I’m an adult now and I’m mid-50s I’m one of the degrees I’ve got a psychology and I know full well it doesn’t matter if I was chewing on the break time a tiny piece of paper the whole point of that was to establish dominance over the car thinking the class it tasted what it’s like if you stand up against me and therefore that’s going to be much easier she just picks on a