Sproggis is not the only one of my schoolfellows I have been thinking of lately.
Yesterday I was reminded of a much nicer and utterly non-criminal chap whom we shall call Cyril Mazzard-Crusher (not his real name), with whom I went through school from the age of 4.
When we about - ooh, 13 or 14 - the whole class went on a coach trip. Two days before, two somewhat impressionable girls lacking a certain degree of rationality announced tearfully that they had both had identical dreams that the coach would crash into a wall and that Cyril would be killed. There was, I recall, a fair amount of belief in the irrational at my school - ouija boards, astrology, lucid dreaming and similar pap. The two girls in question and their friends begged Cyril not to board the bus, but stoically he did so. Nobody wanted to sit next to him for some curious reason.
And why was he particularly in my thoughts yesterday? Because he sent me a friend invitation on Facebook.
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8 comments:
Is he still in touch with Sproggis?
Sx
Not as far as I know - in fact I Googled Sproggis yesterday and found that not only had he wangled early release yet again but a jury in, erm, somewhere had actually acquitted him quite recently of, er, something deeply unpleasant. So I may have to go into hiding...
Oh.
Are you enjoying Facebook? I only ask because I've never done it. Do you link your blog to it?
Sx
Sometimes. You should try it. You'll never know if you like it or not unless you try it*.
I don't know why I'm saying this; there are a large number of things I'm fairly sure I wouldn't enjoy even though I've never tried them.
Incest and folk-dancing. Not worth the effort. Beecham was right.
I know. I am a Welsh. In Gwynedd they're on the curriculum.
Irrationality gone mad. How could only Cyril die in the bus crash? I suppose the girls wanted to strap him to the front bumper to ensure that their premonitions were correct.
And "drinking anything green" I believe is the third one to be added to Beecham's short list.
OOOOOOH - a message from the dead!
Can you ask him how my grandad is. His name's Grandad.
Boyo - last night my sister invited me over "with fiddle" for a folk session involving a work colleague of hers who's a Morrisman (absolutely true; as readers of my blog passim will know, I have in my time been a minor fixture on the folk circuit, though admittedly not playing Morris music) Should I be worried?
Gadjo - curiously, the girls did actually suggest nailing Cyril to the front of the bus (this was in Dudley, where straps are considered wussy). [Boyo - no I don't have their current phone numbers.] The only green things I am prepared to drink are green tea and midori. Does that make me a bad person? I mean, in and of itself?
Jules - does your Grandad live in Southampton?
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