Friday Jan 9th 1976 ...a remmy-niss

[gratedenini]

Friday Jan 9th 1976.......12.30pm

I passed me driving test! It was snowing really bad and the test was nearly cancelled but ahead it went and I passed first time.

In retrospect --the bloke had me legs well oiled.... certainly because he`d f**kin LASHED em so much.... he gave me 20 lessons which looking back prob could have been halfed, or say 12.

I think lessons at that time were about £3.50... of course some of you will remember em being a LOT cheaper than that..and some of yer will recall when yer didnt even need a license.

Mr Armstrong (next door) --he didnt have a licence -- me Dad used to go spare...

"Bastard dilutee he is" ... a dilutee for those who divvent knaa... is a person who isnt a full blown tradesman ie one who has had short term training to do a "proper" job.

When i was serving my time, there was quite a few dilutees, most of em were better at the job than fully served people. Mr Armstrong didnt really fit into that latter catergory I`m afraid... cos even though I was quite young and didnt know the full ins and outs... I sided with me Dad... Mr Armstong was a right sack of weak shit. He used to bake! Bread and scones etc.

Blokes didnt DO that then did they?

I get away with it now cos I`m "new" man. I can cry openly and even wear nail varnish on occassion with predujice. Oh how things have changed eh.

War changes folk. Me Dad wouldnt have worn an ear ring.

"Cis.... Cis!!! Whats that... in his ear?"

(me Mams in the washouse wringing his vests through the mangle)

"It`ll be his earring"

"Ee... ear? Earring? By lad! ... an I think of all those lads who went down!"

(yet ANOTHER reference to the torpedoed boat etc etc)

"Dad, its only an earring... everybody gets em"

"Aye well the only people I see wearing them in the club sit down to piss!"

"Jim!"

"Dad.. its the 70s man"

"Aaaagh. Bugger the 70s. Jim Reeves... now he could sing a tune he could... not like all these now. There was none of this Top of The Pops then. Was there Cis. eh?"

"Jim Reeves... he`s rubbish. Dad, wait... come and listen to this!"

(I scuttle upstairs and put T-Rex on --- Jeepster)

"Cis... Cis CIS... whats that he`s put on the gramaphone? Sounds like a mouse chowin glass! Have I got a shirt for tonight?"

... 30mins later.. he`s off for the bus to the cluuuurb... to sup another 10-15 bottles of broon.

Me Dad was a f**kin good supper of ale. Never... I never seen him bad with it though... seen him totally pissed and sleeping on a rock in the park,and missin his stop on the bus and having to walk (stagger) further home... but he was NEVER bad with it. He never spewed... or slept in cos of the ale. never. I grew to never understand it... esp when at 16 ish... I rolled in pissed after 2 Double Maxims and a whisky chaser!

Head in the bathroom sink... stomach heaving into my mouth. Me Mam downstairs thinkin she`s now lost her youngest son to the Demon Drink.... me Dad pissin in the tiolet next door... I didnt get told off or anything.

He gave me a little nod the next day... I was expecting a telling off... but all I got was a tellin nod... maybe he was proud of me... I dont know --he never said... just a nod. Never threw flowers me Dad.... he threw money though!!!!

Occasionally, he used to come home from the cluuub.... and we`d all be playing in the street (grove)..... and he would take all the money out of his pockets and toss it in the air...and we`d all scramble about for the coppers.... "Whoa... thanks Mr Lindy!"

Looking back--- he`d probably had a double up (two non-runners) and picked his winning up.

Mind.. he was a funny f**ker me Dad. Dry as a rats arse he was. He wouldnt tell jokes as such, but his descriptive stories, even about the most serious of stories-- I found hilarious.

He hated Bruce Forsyth.... and every sat there would be conflict as me Mam sat down to watch The Generation as he readied himself for Session No2 at The Cluuuub.

In those days of course... pubs were only open 11am-2pm ish then would hav to close and open at 7pm-10.30 / 11pm.

So, he would get there for 11am on the dot...and leave when forced... come home.... tea on the table... leave it (I`d pinch the meat if he left it)... go to bed.... ALWAYS wake up without alarm clock.... in time to get a wash in the kitchen sink...and back to the cluuub for 7pm.

In todays world... thats a f**kin disgrace tbh... but not then... loads...loads of working class blokes were exactly the same.

Strangley enough.... not ... Like father like Son in my case (or me brother). I`ve only found the demon drink in later life...and drink for different reasons to me Dad... my vices manifested in differing forms (earrings for instance)

So, I passed my test... and got me 1st car.... I bought it from a tutor at the college I attended.

It was a Riley Kestrel.... wood dashboard,manual choke...AND twin carbs. I found out the advantage of twin carbs on a jaunt to Whitby one sunday afternoon... Charltons bank is a steep and winding affair which leads onto the A172 and across the Moors to the seaside Metropolis.

Charltons bank becomes dual carriage way.... and I become a f**kin madman!!! 2nd gear and the whole car takes off.. and I`m whizzin past all the Sunday drivers like Thingy Hunt.

Twin Carbs. My penis glowed a glow when I discovered Twin Carbs.

I bought that car for £80 .. and sold it for £93... the start of my selling carreer..... about two weeks later I was upstairs with Santana 2 on the gramaphone and a joss stick smouldering, me dad asleep in his chair..... and Me Mam beckons me down... theres someone here for you.

I goes down (pretending I`d been smoking a joint.. but actually it was only a Brut soaked Joss-stick I tried to light up)..... bloke who I sold the car too stood there....

"I want me money back!"

"Eh? What for?"

"Look!!" ... he points to the aforementioned auto some 10m away "the bonnet just flew off along York Rd!"

This I can vouch for as a true story... cos I seen it!!! I was driving in the other direcxtion and seen the bloke attempting to retreive said bonnet from the path of a No6 Truro Drive.

I honestly knew nothing of a fault with the bonnet strap... but waht amazed me was how the stupid bastard didnt realise that the synchro had gone on 2nd gear!! How he drove it away without that tell-tale grating noise I`ll never know!!

Anway... I calmly expressed my apologies and said I`d already spent the money.

He toddled off..and I returned to my room and opened the sawn-off sideboard which now doubled as my wardrobe.... took out me toffee tin with 20 pics of wild animals on it...and counted AGAIN the £93.. well actually-it was £90 cos I`d bought me Mam a thimble from Regency House (in York Rd actually)... THE ornyment shop of Hart le Pool with the odd 3 quid.

I was a good kid like that... very much earlier in my childhood... it was my intention to fullfill what I thought was a dream of me Mam...and that was to have above the fire plastered with mirror tiles.... I saved up me pocket money... and went (on me own)... to see what I could do... I came out of Bloomies Pawn shop with a strip of small mirror tiles about the length of the mantlepiece.... My Mother took it as the gesture it was meant... and that one strip of tiles went above the fireplace... and only ever one... and remained there for approx 15yr... until Dad got his asbestosis money... and the coal fire was done away with.

I dont think he was ever too happy with this change...and he would be forever saying "Just put one bar on, the meter is spinnin!".

Similarly, I recall buying (from the same emporioum) a huge f**k off ring for me Mam. Purple it was.... flexy-size I suppose the phrase would be. The stone was clipped into place with 4 extremely femmer "gold" clasps.

She bent it on her finger on one of the very rare times she went to The Cluuuub...and it was still there when she returned,although I had to take this on trust cos I was in bed by then.

3/6d that cost... I can see it now. Of course--I dint know it was a pawn shop---how/why could I? Thats how it was then... now its all a little less seedy.. they are called Cheque Cashing shops now.... purveying all that shit jewelry in the gaudy windows. I`ve had occasion to use such establishments I must admit... oiling my finger before entry (TO THE SHOP yer bastards!) and removing the bands of gold for inspection by the always heavily gilded ladies behind the counter... I would always look at them thinking they`d bought half the bastard shop, the amount of jewelery adorned about them.