BEFORE AMNESIA - YET MORE RANDOM MEMORIES

Day 4 of "Before Amnesia" - more random memories......

I remember living in Chadwell Heath, east London and Friday night beers at The Cooper’s Arms where a band called Ropey Boat played various songs including Love Potion No. 9.

I remember Stevie Wonder’s ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ LP playing repeatedly at a party.

I remember reading ‘Elvis Dead’ on a newsagent’s board on my way to Chadwell Heath railway station. It was a stunning moment.

I remember the assistant manager in BHS, Romford eating two cheese and marmalade rolls every morning on his coffee break. He was an open-mouthed, smacky kind of eater with crumbs all over his lips.

I remember going on holiday to Malta with Irene and her parents and getting my feet so badly burned by the blazing sun that I couldn’t walk for two days. I read four books.

I remember seeing Steve McQueen, not long before his death at fifty, in a western called Tom Horn. I thought that icons like him could never die, but in a way they don’t. They are always within reach via a DVD box set.

I remember a holiday in Amsterdam when we ran out of money and couldn’t afford to eat on the last day.

I remember our wedding day. Irene looked stunning. Her father wore amazing grey shoes and told a long joke at the reception about Morris dancers on a car bonnet (geddit?).

I remember living in Plumstead, south-east London.  Lorries would make a racket as they drove over a huge pothole in the road outside our bedroom window. It took the council several months to get round to repairing the hole. We had little need for an alarm clock.

I remember moving to BHS, Wood Green, north London and sharing a flat with Paul Anderson in Crouch End. We frequented The Stapleton Hall Tavern. There was a guy there who always wore a leather cowboy hat. He mooched about cadging drinks and fags. We called him Buffalo Bill, but not to his face.

I remember our Jamaican neighbour from the upstairs flat cleaning his car in the early hours of the morning and playing reggae music quite loud. Occasional shouts of ‘turn that bloody racket down’ bounced off the walls along the street.

I remember a sweet, smoky smell on the landing.

I remember loving piccalilli, then hating it.

I remember hearing about John Wayne’s death the day after most of the rest of the world. I was on holiday abroad and the newspapers were available one day later than the UK.

I remember moving to BHS’s head office on the Marylebone Road as Audit Manager. Our office was on the ground floor. One day the actor Derek Nimmo walked in and asked if he could use the phone as his car had broken down. He was wearing a bright pink tie.

I remember washing my hair with Fairy Liquid.

I remember Clive James signing my copy of Unreliable Memoirs in Selfridges. He wrote small.

I remember moving to Hemel Hempstead, Hertfordshire, and our first proper house that we couldn’t really afford. Interest rates were 15% and most times there was too much month left at the end of the money.

I remember being told that my father had died of an intracranial tumour. He was 57. We hadn’t seen or heard from him in twenty-two years. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel sad. He was a stranger.

I remember David being born. Not long after he appeared, he pooped on my arm. Joy.

I remember Steven being born. No poop. More joy.

I remember trying to figure out six mini-roundabouts surrounding one large roundabout on a road into Hemel Hempstead.

I remember working for Alfred Dunhill Limited, across the road from Fortnum & Mason in London. One day, I saw Michael Caine walking along the street. On another day, I saw Terence Stamp in a nearby bookshop. I think I stared at both of them a little too long.

I remember the Dunhill archivist showed me the shop manager’s diary from the 1950s, specifically the entry recording that “Mr Laurel and Mr Hardy visited the shop today.”  There is no record of purchases.

I remember seeing Adam Ant in a London wine bar and being surprised that he wasn’t taller.

I remember the announcer at Baker Street tube station saying: “The next train is a Barking train.” For once, smiles in the rush hour.

I remember feeling sad when Rock Hudson died.

I remember a story from America about a baby called Jessica who fell down a well. She was rescued after a couple of days but, unhelpfully and insensitively in the tense operation, the ding-dong-dell tune rattled around my head.

I remember dressing up as a hillbilly country singer to perform Shel Silverstein’s “Beans” song at the Makro, Liverpool Christmas lunch. I had a straw wig.

I remember seeing The Rolling Stones twice at Don Valley Stadium, Sheffield and on both occasions witnessed the impossible as no-spring-chicken Mick Jagger sprinted back and forth across the stage several times.

I remember the two best bosses I have ever had, Mike and Peter.  I often thought about them when I had to make tough decisions – What would Mike do? What would Peter do? Only two such bosses out of forty I have had in my career.

I remember listening to Roger Scott on the radio. He was one of the great deejays. He died at 46 from cancer. He had a ‘radio’ voice.

I remember ‘Boom, boom, boom, boom, Esso Blue’.

I remember watching the fall of the Berln Wall on TV and Mrs McAtackney (the rat-a-tat-tat woman from my youth) popped into my head shouting: “Stop it. Stop it. Get off my wall.”

I remember being taught how to give a good, firm handshake.

I remember an obnoxious twat I used to work for.

BEFORE AMNESIA - MORE RANDOM MEMORIES

Day 3 of "Before Amnesia" - more random memories........

I remember seeing Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid at the Broadway cinema on the Falls Road, Belfast and when Sundance said he couldn’t swim, I knew how he felt.

I remember watching in complete awe the TV coverage of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon.

I remember my first bookcase, an oranges crate retrieved from the shop across the road.

I remember hearing about a tough guy from Belfast called Buck Alec. He kept a lion in his back yard. I had a dream once that the lion was chasing me and Buck was chasing the lion.

I remember liking the smell of pipe tobacco but not liking cigarette tobacco, in spite of my earlier ‘death’s door’ experience.

I remember my mother throwing her slipper at the TV because the Reverend Ian Paisley was shouting something or other that she didn’t like.

I remember small Kemp apples, sweet, sometimes sour.

We ate three or four at a time and always regretted it.

I remember black and white news reports of the Vietnam War and thinking they were not quite the same as Sunday afternoon war films.

I remember singing along to the The Beverley Hillbillies songs and finishing with a rousing ‘Y’all come back now, ya hear.’

I remember the first time I saw John Wayne as Marshal Rooster Cogburn in True Grit in the scene where he confronts four outlaws. One of them calls him a one-eyed fat man and Cogburn shouts: “Fill your hand, you son of a bitch” before putting the reins in his teeth, pulling his pistol from the holster, twirling his Winchester rifle and charging. Thrilling.

I remember eating cooked ham from a packet for the first time and it tasted like rubber.

I remember my Aunt Sheila sprinkling curry powder on her Irish stew, my first taste of the exotic.

I remember loving hot Oxo drinks in the winter.

I remember fearing Cybermen more than Daleks in Doctor Who.

I remember never missing Top of the Pops.

I remember tripping and tumbling down a slope on the Black Mountain. I was dazed but unhurt.

I remember Sean Allison and I playing guitars and singing Kris Kristofferson and Gordon Lightfoot songs on Sunday afternoons in my bedroom. I think I was a better singer than him but he was definitely a much better guitar player.

I remember slices of vegetable roll, a Monday dinner thing, strangely named because it had meat in it.

I remember liking Munchies but not the minty ones.

I remember leaving St Mary’s Christian Brothers Grammar School with 4 O-levels – English, Maths, French and Irish. I got a job as an office clerk in the Belfast Corporation Electricity Department at Power Station West, which sounded very exciting. It wasn’t.

I remember being wary of our airing cupboard. I thought the creaking pipes might be a bogeyman.

I remember singing into hairbrush ‘microphones’.

I remember railings in Belfast city centre and being frisked by policemen or soldiers on my way to work in British Home Stores. It became a normal routine.

I remember the news in the middle of the night that my brother Paul was dead. Days later, I identified his body with a nod of my head.

I remember my mother darning socks.

I remember winning the BHS dominoes championship and being presented with an engraved tankard.

I remember Vesta beef curry, but not fondly.

I remember leaving Belfast to live in Manchester to work as a department manager for BHS. The homesickness and loneliness faded after a few months.

I remember running every day for what seemed like an eternity to buy the lunchtime edition of the Manchester Evening News in a flat-hunting frenzy and then running to a phone box to call the numbers. I saw quite a few grotty flats and rooms but struck lucky with a place in Heaton Moor. The landlord was Mister Kola.

I remember a work colleague making fun of my Belfast accent and asking me if I was ‘on the run’. I began to adapt the way I spoke.

I remember ironing only the collars and front panels of work shirts because the rest of the shirt would be hidden under a jacket.

I remember a marathon pub crawl in Manchester with Tom McGarrity, Tuesday 14 September, 1976 – Mitre Hotel; Town Hall Tavern; Vine Inn; Crown; Grey Horse; Flanagan’s; Portland Hotel; Piccadilly Hotel; Shakespeare.

I remember sad news of the death of Sidney James, a comic genius with one of the greatest laughs ever.

I remember the long, hot, sweaty summer of 1976 and a pint of beer for 21p.

I remember Tommy Ducks, an amazing Manchester pub. The ceiling was adorned with a variety of knickers donated by female customers.

I remember being transferred to BHS, Romford, Essex. Mr Robinson, the boss, was an old-school manager and terrifying when he wanted to be.

I remember meeting Irene at the men’s underwear section of BHS, Romford, a genuine brief encounter.

I remember following and apprehending a shoplifter for the first time. He was a big, scary guy.