WAS I EVER RUM-BLED?
The older I get the more I realize that my late dad was right in his assertion that your school days are the best days of your life. I vividly recall how, at the time, I considered how silly this was, since being a school kid was hardcore. I had to do homework, get up early, participate in physical education (to this day I still can’t climb a rope, nor have I ever had occasion to need to do so), and, amongst other horrors, sit cross-legged, arms folded on a hard wooden floor during morning assembly listening to Mr. Backhouse whittle on about some shite or other. Adults could do what they liked and had a shed full of money too. Being deluded, even at such a fragile age, is never a reason to celebrate.
If I’m honest, I have never bought into the notion of adulthood. Sure, I have managed to fake it, and rather convincingly so, as evidenced by my rather impressive curriculum vitae – former senior police officer, a post-graduate researcher in criminology, and a local politician. But I am at my most comfortable shouting and jumping up and down at the football and speedway, licking a Mr. Whippy ice cream, saying ‘fuck’ a lot, and mucking about with my best mate Arthur (my partner’s 2-year-old grandson). So, am I unique? Or am I just irresponsible? Did my teachers get it right all those years ago? There
