Alan and me
One year, four of us performed at the Sunday School Christmas party, miming to "I Wanna Hold Your Hand". My hair was curly and wouldn't stay in a fringe, so my father made me a fake fringe out of black wool and elastic. He also made the two hardboard cut-out guitars, in the shape of my ukulele.
Cardboard cut-out Beatles
A year or two later, Alan became head of the sunday school, and I went to the devil. Since those days, Alan has lived a decent and worthwhile life as an activist church minister, and was last year appointed Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland (BBC announcement). For non-Scots readers, this means he's a sort of Archbishop of Scotland.
But I've just discovered that Alan is not the only famous person I used to know. When I was an 18-year-old medical student studying anatomy, I spent a year taking apart a dead person. There were six of us students to each body. One of the guys sharing my cadaver was called Ian. He later moved to Australia and went on to invent a vaccine to prevent cervical cancer. He won a gong in 2005. I may possibly have contributed in some small way to his success. Due to hangovers and other chemical imbalances, I actually missed many of the anatomy classes, and this would have given Ian a clearer view and better access to the body on the slab.
Another old school chum, whose mother was the love of my father's life (unconsummated) worked his way up to become one of the leading suppliers of sausage skins to the Glasow meat trade. That could have been me if only my father had married more wisely.
But much as I admire the achievements of my former friends, I'm sure they would also admire my success if they only knew about my work here in New Caledonia as an amateur brewer. And I hate to boast, but I have also had some success at the McDonald Institute, where I was head researcher in the Department of Misanthropology. Not to mention my volunteer counselling work with the HNT scheme.
Obviously, I flunked the anatomy exams, but I still learned some basic anatomy, and I think I've got what it takes to be a waxer.
Weren't you the cutest little band!
ReplyDeleteCool about your famous friends.
Hey, that waxing looks fun....NOT!
(Well, maybe for the WAXER)
Onan! So you'd like to be a waxer ... what more can one say? Hotboy
ReplyDeleteOnan! I suspected you might be a waxer. Anyway, the Moderator of the Church of Jocks will be a complete flatheid and know nothing about religion whatsoever. Since I will one day emanate as a Medicine Buddha, I'll take my hat off to any doctory people, but the only daughter of a major sausage company owner unexpectedly came to my room for coffee one night when I was in first year, so ...gazumped you on that one, Onan! Anyway, the only famous people worth knowing are the ones who buy you drinks. Ditto: the less famous! Hotboy
ReplyDeletei've traded eights with a grammy winning sax player.
ReplyDeletewon a grammy in the polka category though.
i am not joking.
great post!
Onan? Is that you? Your aunties are still in hiding for some reason. Anyway, the waxer joe in the bottom photie is holding up a male leg. Yes, or no? If it's a female leg, then I am gay! Onan, we need nice girls in lederhosen for this blog. All singing: We don't want money, we just want fun! Hotboy
ReplyDeleteIt's so hard to look at these photies. Wonderful children! What the fung did they do to them? Hotboy
ReplyDeleteI say!
ReplyDeleteOne should certainly not underestimate the importance of becoming an amateur brewer. Of course, it rather pales in comparison to a pitch inspector, but is almost certainly a more significant achievement than becoming a hut manager.
Cabbage has sent off his application for that position, and I'm sure that a bit of nepotism won't go amiss.
MM III
I think success is what you make of it!!
ReplyDeleteAnd what a cute band you guys made!!
I meant success is how you define it.
ReplyDeleteI just need someone who have no problem about hurting me... I need a brazlian waxing for my trip to la Habana... Volunteers??? LOLOLOL...
ReplyDeleteLA - the band sounded worse than they look, so you can imagine.
ReplyDeleteHB - Did you play hide the sausage with the meat-job heiress? No? That was 2 opportunities you missed. How can you tell from just the leg? Surely no man can do the splits like that?
ray - the polka bit ruined the effect. How come you're a singular ray now?
MM - I've put in a good word for Cabbage.
angel - that's what I thought you meant. In my own mind I'm a success, but that may be dementia.
searabbit - hotboy has no scruples about hurting people. Save money by trying a Cuban Wax, where you set fire to your own pubes.
Now I know why they say the Britsh are eccentric.
ReplyDeleteRob those chilhood pics are just too sweet, and the story about your dad making you a fake fringe and your mates cut-out gitters made me want to cry!...what a touching memory to have!
ReplyDelete