I've suddenly realised that I have made no mention on here about my reading at the very wonderful Stoke Newington Bookshop.
This is not because of any emotional trauma involved, causing me to blot it out, but rather the distraction of my floundering sporting career.
That said, I did find the experience quite disturbing. It was the inevitable flash back to school days. In particular I recall having to do live translations in Latin. And, by the way, this was in a state comprehensive.What was Latin was doing there (and no, Rushby-Smith, although double barreled, does not make me a Fotherington-Thomas.)?
Yes, I faltered. Yes, I went beetroot red. Yes, I mumbled into the book, and yes it went on for ever. But the funny thing is, no-one else seemed to notice. I even got a few laughs. In the right places. Not, "I'm afraid you'll never walk again." room erupts with guffaws. etc.
But the best thing was to receive genuine encouragement from other writers, and to see familiar faces from the neighbourhood, as well as a few from my past, including old friends and even my school music teacher. It must be strange for those I have lost touch with to suddenly find me in a wheelchair. Not on the usual list of,
" I see the old Barnet's on the retreat."
"You're looking well fed, these days."
"Still a Goth? In this day and age?"
"That rash never cleared up, then?"
Short of 'gender realignment', I think the wheelchair would be the most talked about change at a school reunion. Luckily, I have never been within a country mile of a school reunion, especially not one for my school, which would probably have to take place in Parkhurst.
Right, more coffee to get me through the fug of last night's sleeper. Old Spike dropped by again, last night. There are some old friends I could live without...
This is not because of any emotional trauma involved, causing me to blot it out, but rather the distraction of my floundering sporting career.
That said, I did find the experience quite disturbing. It was the inevitable flash back to school days. In particular I recall having to do live translations in Latin. And, by the way, this was in a state comprehensive.What was Latin was doing there (and no, Rushby-Smith, although double barreled, does not make me a Fotherington-Thomas.)?
Yes, I faltered. Yes, I went beetroot red. Yes, I mumbled into the book, and yes it went on for ever. But the funny thing is, no-one else seemed to notice. I even got a few laughs. In the right places. Not, "I'm afraid you'll never walk again." room erupts with guffaws. etc.
But the best thing was to receive genuine encouragement from other writers, and to see familiar faces from the neighbourhood, as well as a few from my past, including old friends and even my school music teacher. It must be strange for those I have lost touch with to suddenly find me in a wheelchair. Not on the usual list of,
" I see the old Barnet's on the retreat."
"You're looking well fed, these days."
"Still a Goth? In this day and age?"
"That rash never cleared up, then?"
Short of 'gender realignment', I think the wheelchair would be the most talked about change at a school reunion. Luckily, I have never been within a country mile of a school reunion, especially not one for my school, which would probably have to take place in Parkhurst.
Right, more coffee to get me through the fug of last night's sleeper. Old Spike dropped by again, last night. There are some old friends I could live without...
Leave a comment