It’s always the same. Sunday is the battle of the homework and the early night in readiness for school on the dreaded Monday morning. And then there’s the ‘I don’t want to go to school’ and ‘school’s boring’. Well thankfully there’s no ‘school is a waste of time’ as that would be extremely sad and we all know it isn’t a waste. But it got me thinking; my schools days were not boring. And I’m sure in time; number 1 son will see that it is not boring too. I’m not going to say it’s easy as we all know that the lives of teenagers are not easy. The whole world knows when they have a spot and when they have no money. And the hardest thing for any teen is getting out of bed and tidying up all their clothes from the floor and placing them in the washing basket. And then they want to know why you haven’t washed that pair of jeans when there are others hanging up in the wardrobe waiting patiently to be worn. Especially when they were bought as a ‘must have now, nothing else will do’ only to be a crumpled mass on the floor.
And despite my school days being like a million years ago, according to no 1 son, I remember them well and thanks to social networking sites, I have been able to reconnect with some school mates after I lost touch, what with a gazillion moves and lost bits of papers with addresses on.
I wasn’t a swot but neither was I to be found in the head’s office. I wasn’t in the popular set but neither was I a nerd. I was just mediocre, in the middle. If I was a Little Miss, I would be Little Miss Average. I had good friends and a sometimes good attitude towards my work but always paying more attention to gossip and giggling with friends (no change there then). And as my school reports always said ‘could try harder, is easily influenced by friends’ and is a ‘chatterbox’, I feel my school days were actually not that bad. . . .
Here are a few school day memories as to why it was fun . . . .
ü We never had a uniform as such. As long as we wore, white, blue, brown, grey or black and not jeans, we could wear anything. Woo hoo! And we did! I always had my Chelsea footie scarf on (it was blue) with matching boots.
ü Our classroom was allowed to have posters of Duran Duran and other 80s pop stars who shall remain nameless because Duran Duran were the best!
ü I was allowed to do Cross Country with a friend instead of the team sports and we did Cross Country without bunking off. Yes, instead of sneaking off for a fag or taking short cuts, we did it properly because we always wanted to beat each other and neither would let the other win. (For people who know me well, yes, it started young, my competitiveness to win). As for the team sports; I was rubbish. If I had to join in with rounders then I would choose deep field as I could sit and chat with my friends as the ball hardly came out that far. And when it did, there was always the sporty one who would save the day.
ü A boy in the year above was the dead spit of John Taylor from Duran Duran and I loved him! I loved him sooooo much that I took a camera into school to get pics of him. This may well be called stalking or papping and I may have missed my vocation in becoming a paparazzi. The photos are still in my possession, in the loft somewhere amongst the football programmes. He was my first crush and I wish I could be in touch with him now to apologise for making his school life a misery with some mad, obsessed girl running around the school after him, followed by a group of giggling friends, encouraging me on. Poor sod.
ü Our history teacher had very bad BO. It was ironic that he was also named after a deodorant, well a similar name, like that of the beach. And said deodorant was placed on his desk before he walked into class. . . He didn’t get the message but we all had a giggle anyway after holding our breath for a reaction, which sadly never came. I don’t think he used it either.
ü I dressed as a hippy for a fancy dress day of which I can’t remember the reason but everyone made a very good effort, from a pregnant lady to Boy George. Some funny looks came our way as we walked to town for lunch in our get up.
|A chimney sweep, Boy george, pregnant lady and Hippy!|
|Peace, dude. x|
ü I never once had a detention . . . woo hoo! Girly swot I hear you cry. . . No, I just did my homework at lunchtime with a friend’s help as they had already done there’s. And I was always too nice to be bad or unkind to anyone. Not that the odd name calling went amiss when friends fall out, only to be back with her the next day. I was involved in whole class detentions and watching a class caning. That’s as close as I got to being a rebel in school . . . out of school though . . .
ü On a school trip to London, I protested far too loudly at the selling of fur in the corner shop in SW1 and was asked to leave where I promptly sat down in protest with my fellow animal rights campaigner. Little did I know at that time, I would end up working there years later. But then fur wasn’t fashionable and they didn’t sell it . . . well not on the shop floor anyway. I soon found out there was fur selling going on behind closed doors. . .
ü I had train tracks fitted on both rows of teeth in my last year at school (before 6th form anyway). Not a good look! I looked like Jaws from the James Bond movie Moonraker. But my friends and classmates were awesome! I had to decline toffees and sweets offered to me by friends. And the train tracks weren’t as dainty as they are now or a fashion item which they appear to be now. They were clunky, chunky, uncomfortable and always caught the inside of my mouth.
But I have super straight teeth so it was worth it.
And there you have it; nothing shocking, naughty or outrageous. No awards (my friend had recently told me she won an award for class flirt and dizziest female in her high school years). No prizes for guessing who but go on, have a go. No proms; just a last exam where we all drifted off afterwards to the big wide world of work and responsibility. But good times none the less, despite the braces.