You'll notice how insistently I get the word trees in the title, when there are none in the blog.
Actually there are, because I've been talking about my adventures in print - and paper comes from trees...tenuous link, I know, but times are hard.
Staying with the writing focus ; it was a rambling descriptive essay about not very much that helped me scrape into a posh school in Scotland , and is the reason why I still hold a grudge against authority, my parents, and ignorant people .
Because the school was so posh that we couldn't afford to go there, and besides it was time to uproot (once again) and relocate to sunny England where I found myself forced to re - sit a year at school, and was roundly mocked for my accent.
That which does not kill you makes you stronger, they say. I grew accustomed to the nickname 'Haggis', and quickly earned respect amongst my peers for misbehaviour in class - with a couple of friends I created a vile,distinctly un - p.c. obscenity called the Not Very Holy Bible which was passed furtively beneath desks in a variety of classes.
When Sid Vicious died, I wore a black armband - not particularly because I cared about him ( he couldn't play bass anyway), but I wanted to annoy people.
With school chums Joe and Craig, I formed a band. We played one gig to an audience of 200 people in the Lecture Hall - we were supporting a band whose members hailed from nearby Castle Donnington, and many people had bought tickets assuming the bands were from the famous Heavy Metal festival ( Monsters Of Rock) there.
Why they assumed axe - wielding metal muthas would play a school hall was beyond me, but what they got was our trio dressed in lab coats with the legend 'The Diezels' spray painted on the backs, hollering our way through a punky set, with the aid of a fuzzbox (in a nod to heavy metal, we included a harsh cover of Black Sabbath 'Paranoid'). To our amazement a scribe from a local newspaper had turned up in the confusion, thinking he was getting top names from Heavy Metal* playing a low key gig - in fairness he actually gave us a review, saying that we were a 'way - out punk band', which was nice, considering the ramshackle set devolved into feedback and fighting between the guitarist and the drummer.
We went through a few changes of personnel (at one point briefly recruiting Showaddywaddy's drummers daughter , which led to members of said group barging into a rehearsal banging tea trays on their heads to take the piss.)
At one point we recruited a Sixth form arty type called Kevin, who wanted us to be called '35 Isolated Style'. He played proficient rhythm guitar, but had a strange obsession with female Russian gymnasts, and his 'artworks' were somewhat disturbing, to say the least.
As a group, we played one more gig under the name 'The Subway Zephyrs'(oddly enough, ending in another argument between Joe and Craig, and the sub-Keith Moon style destruction of the drum kit) before folding.
The world did not mourn our passing.
And so we entered the tender years of angst and existentialism, moving from punky anarchy to a more intellectual stance (i.e. poseurs). We took to smoking Sobranie cigarettes as the height of sophistication (although ultimately Gauloise and an Art school demeanour became derigeur). Personally I blame the influence of the Sixth form.
I shall draw a discreet veil at this point, as I notice that I've already strayed from my initial intent and focus, although I've very much enjoyed strolling down the nostalgic tree - lined avenues of the past.
It may be age, perhaps, but I swear it was always Summer then - endless lazy Summer days.
As the Seventies gave way to the Eighties, I became more politically concerned, seeking a focus for the angry energy. We had Feed The World and all this stuff galvanising people to take action and fight for a cause. Everyone seemed to be vegan, (or at least a Smiths fan) and being pale and interesting was a life - style choice...
* The band we supported were called 'Academy', and were perfectly okay in a middling sort of way - they did covers of The Police and stuff, and you could book them for weddings barmitzvahs etc...I also did a dreadful flyer for the gig, but can't find one for posterity - it was awful anyway
Forgive me for this side - step ramble, I didn't mean this to be so biographical, but I suppose it puts things in perspective. Next blog will be back on the beam! Sort of...
Actually there are, because I've been talking about my adventures in print - and paper comes from trees...tenuous link, I know, but times are hard.
Staying with the writing focus ; it was a rambling descriptive essay about not very much that helped me scrape into a posh school in Scotland , and is the reason why I still hold a grudge against authority, my parents, and ignorant people .
Because the school was so posh that we couldn't afford to go there, and besides it was time to uproot (once again) and relocate to sunny England where I found myself forced to re - sit a year at school, and was roundly mocked for my accent.
That which does not kill you makes you stronger, they say. I grew accustomed to the nickname 'Haggis', and quickly earned respect amongst my peers for misbehaviour in class - with a couple of friends I created a vile,distinctly un - p.c. obscenity called the Not Very Holy Bible which was passed furtively beneath desks in a variety of classes.
When Sid Vicious died, I wore a black armband - not particularly because I cared about him ( he couldn't play bass anyway), but I wanted to annoy people.
 |
| You can feel the anger seeping...1981 I think. |
Why they assumed axe - wielding metal muthas would play a school hall was beyond me, but what they got was our trio dressed in lab coats with the legend 'The Diezels' spray painted on the backs, hollering our way through a punky set, with the aid of a fuzzbox (in a nod to heavy metal, we included a harsh cover of Black Sabbath 'Paranoid'). To our amazement a scribe from a local newspaper had turned up in the confusion, thinking he was getting top names from Heavy Metal* playing a low key gig - in fairness he actually gave us a review, saying that we were a 'way - out punk band', which was nice, considering the ramshackle set devolved into feedback and fighting between the guitarist and the drummer.
We went through a few changes of personnel (at one point briefly recruiting Showaddywaddy's drummers daughter , which led to members of said group barging into a rehearsal banging tea trays on their heads to take the piss.)
At one point we recruited a Sixth form arty type called Kevin, who wanted us to be called '35 Isolated Style'. He played proficient rhythm guitar, but had a strange obsession with female Russian gymnasts, and his 'artworks' were somewhat disturbing, to say the least.
As a group, we played one more gig under the name 'The Subway Zephyrs'(oddly enough, ending in another argument between Joe and Craig, and the sub-Keith Moon style destruction of the drum kit) before folding.
And so we entered the tender years of angst and existentialism, moving from punky anarchy to a more intellectual stance (i.e. poseurs). We took to smoking Sobranie cigarettes as the height of sophistication (although ultimately Gauloise and an Art school demeanour became derigeur). Personally I blame the influence of the Sixth form.I shall draw a discreet veil at this point, as I notice that I've already strayed from my initial intent and focus, although I've very much enjoyed strolling down the nostalgic tree - lined avenues of the past.
It may be age, perhaps, but I swear it was always Summer then - endless lazy Summer days.
As the Seventies gave way to the Eighties, I became more politically concerned, seeking a focus for the angry energy. We had Feed The World and all this stuff galvanising people to take action and fight for a cause. Everyone seemed to be vegan, (or at least a Smiths fan) and being pale and interesting was a life - style choice...
* The band we supported were called 'Academy', and were perfectly okay in a middling sort of way - they did covers of The Police and stuff, and you could book them for weddings barmitzvahs etc...I also did a dreadful flyer for the gig, but can't find one for posterity - it was awful anyway
Forgive me for this side - step ramble, I didn't mean this to be so biographical, but I suppose it puts things in perspective. Next blog will be back on the beam! Sort of...
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