A few years ago I went to a school reunion for the Class of '83 (thats the year I left school)...... this is my story...
"Dave Dawson, Dicky Dawson?" .....and that's where I stopped. Suddenly realising there was nothing of significance which could have happened in the last 20 years since I last saw this person. Hoping that they remember something that will start the conversation off and avoid the cold hard fact I made no impact on their lives whatsoever.......... it sounds scary doesn't it. That moment when you realise the other person has "no idea who the hell you are", "why you're here", and more importantly, "why you are talking to them". It can be scary.... that's the natural reaction, the unnatural reaction would be to spin out the most ridiculous story of human achievement/suffering you can conjure up in approximately 5 minutes of conversation with someone who has the balls to stand there and not remember who you were at school...... how dare they.
At least that what I thought. Not at first of course.... It took at least half a bottle of JD before I formulated my plan to keep me entertained. Thanks Goober!
The art of bullshitting someone who you've just met for no other reason than entertainment is fast becoming one of my top pastimes. But only when the time is right. Its a bit like the summer/winter solstice at Stone Henge, for 363 days of the year Stone Henge is a bunch of old stones robbing valuable agricultural land from some local farmer, but come the solstice it transforms into an intersteller pangalactic roadmap to the n'th dimension which attracts travellers & gipo's like a council tip on bin day.
On this occasion, my solstice happened to be a combination of heavy drinking, insufferable boredom and not actually liking anyone I met (this was to change as the night went on!).
I probably need to set the scene for anyone who does not know what the hell I'm on about... well, thanks to the world wide web I found out there was a school reunion in the small mining town I grew up in. 1983 seems to be the year it was based on, which also happens to be the final year of our internment in state education and the point at which we were spewed forth onto a blank canvas entitled "Life". The soundtrack for this was a combination of The Jam/Stiff Little Fingers/Big Country/U2 with a little Human League and Frankie Goes to Hollywood thrown in to remind you that sh*t sticks and never to underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.
Its 19 years on. Everyone will be in the 35/36 age range. Should be a right owld giggle.
It took four hours, fifteen minutes for me to drive the 330 miles back to Peterlee. Non stop. Which isn't bad for a Saturday morning. Arrived at Goobers in the afternoon and was greeted in the traditional Easington Colliery/Peterlee manner. Several tonal grunts and the offer of instant coffee. It was going to be a good day.
I should point out that Goober is my official "Brother From Another Mother". We share most things in life except bodily fluids and footballing tastes. We have an internal sense of each others humour, which can make it difficult for anyone else who happens to join us as they usually have no idea what we're on about and tend to wander off in search of saner company..... But what the hell, its all part of being smarter than the average bear.
Easington Comprehensive was an unusual school. Split into two some years afore, the "Lower" school was for 1st to 3rd years while the newer larger "Upper" school was for 4th/5th years with an important inclusion.......... "Murtoners". Murton is another small mining town about 8 miles north west of Easington. For some reason the local authority decided that it would close Murtons own school (I'm assuming Murton actually had a school) and send all its future yackers to Easington and let them mix it with the rest of us. I think it was a smart move, for no other reason than I met a lot of people who changed the way I thought about stuff, and mostly for the better.
Anyhow, back to the reunion. We were getting a lift to the Village Inn in Easington from Shelly to meet up with some of the lads. I was wearing my "smoke & mirrors" outfit....... black shirt, black trousers, black shoes, leather jacket with "I'M NOT FAT" in 4 inch letters on the back (this is only visible to me you understand). Goober on the other hand does not need to convince people of anything so donned his Scarborough shirt heavily impregnated with Lynx and a nice pair of jeans..... We looked like the bast**d offspring of Steptoe & Son. It REALLY was gonna be a top night.
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The Starwars Cafe.
There were two large halls, one full of disco equipment and the other full of cast members from the Starwars cafe. Its an eerie feeling walking into a room full of people who vaguely look like small children you once went to school with.... Names would drift through the ether, pick a victim and mug their ability to recall any details of that person. I believe taking large quantities of magic mushrooms has the same effect.
It soon became apparent that the best course of action would be to stand against the far wall and try to workout which names could possibly match a face, then attempt to remember whether or not that person was gonna slap you one for some forgotten-childish-school-yard-prank you failed to recall and subsequently scared them for life (ahem!.... you know who you are!).
While Goober & myself played out this action I suddenly realised a parallel with past times.. Here we were, standing in a large full room, away from the crowd and being ignored by everyone........ sort of sums up almost every assembly, breaktime and gathering at Easington Comprehensive I attended. The jury's still out on whether I find this comforting or depressing.
I'm finding it difficult to write about any of the people I chatted with. Mainly because the discussion tended to revolve around me doing sumert embarrassing at school or which would cause upset to people who know me. It was at this point I decided not to play any mind games, these people were starting to interest me, and I got involved in some very grown up conversations (Mr Shepherd & Super spring to mind). The phrase "I only drink to make other people more interesting" was loosing its credibility.
Not everything went to plan tho'. I did meet some scary people, maybe they were playing mind games with me? I was simply too drunk to work it out. One person in particular re-lighted my plan for mind games when they attempted to use psychology on Goober for no other reason than to impress. I wont go into details, but someone from our school now thinks I'm a Jingle writer for commercial radio and part time Reverend in the Universal Life Church (births, deaths & marriages are ok, circumcisions are a no-no) and exiting with a suspected colostomy bag failure got me a head start for the door.
Apparently we're all doing it again in five years. With a bit of luck, I'll be there.
Thanks to the people who organised the reunion, a top night was had. Thanks
That was until the summer of 1998 when drummer and best friend Dave Dawson invited me to a Miles Hunt gig at Ronnie Scott’s in Birmingham. I watched with open mouth as Miles and Malc strutted their stuff and made two acoustic guitars sound like a full band, the next morning over breakfast I knew what Dave was about to say. Sure enough he asked if I had any new material and when I gave him the answer he set the wheels in motion. A recording Studio in Epsom was booked for the January and I had plenty of time to iron out the creases, an attempt to get our long time friend Simon Wood was tried but to no avail.
