Take a long hard look at this photograph. I count thirty-five pupils all lined up holding their school prizes – in case you’re interested I’m the midget in the front row fourth from the right wearing the light-coloured jumper – and apart from one or two there’s hardly a fat kid amongst us. I know I’ve just offended two minority groups for the price of one in that last sentence but let’s be honest here for a minute. Two slightly obese children out of a group of thirty-five equates to approximately just over 0.05% of the group as a whole. However, the trusty internet informs me that in this day and age a staggering 1 in 5 children aged 10 or over are currently classified as obese. That’s 20% now versus 0.05% when this picture was taken. No wonder we all look pleased with ourselves.
As an aside, the two objects of my romantic ardour, Jessica and Emily (not their real names), can also be seen second and third in the front row, positioning themselves as far away from me as they could possibly get without appearing rude.
Here’s the book prize I chose which I received for convincing the RE teacher I was a committed God-botherer.
I enjoyed the ceremony so much I was moved to put my thoughts into words. I know, not exactly stylish reporting in the vein of Woodward and Bernstein but it’s a start.
This is a photograph taken during the summer of 65 which I labelled “Donkeys on Margate Beach”, but more accurately could be called “The Back of My Grandad’s Head”, seeing as that’s my mums dad in the black jacket. The only time I can remember him talking to me is when he told me a few years later to “get your bleedin’ aircut”. I’d hate to think what he’d say if he could see me now. What with the extended lockdown and no access to the nearest barber shop I’m starting to look like Ozzy Osbourne, and that’s on a good day.
Here’s my mum posing on the Margate Riviera. It’s actually the swimming pool located just in front of where the Sun Deck used to be, as shown in the second image. The Sun Deck, which was the gathering place for the after-school Margate division of The Beach Boys (read the book), is alas no more. They should have left it standing in honour of the local population seeing as most of them were probably conceived under it late on a drunken Saturday night.
The photo above is cropped in order to avoid litigation from the other individuals stood next to me posing in the water on Ramsgate beach. The main reason I’m including it here is because it’s evidence that I really did try to hide the unsightly mole that lurked beneath my left nipple. The fact that nobody on the whole of the planet other than me gave a rat’s arse one way or the other isn’t the point. I knew it was there and that was good enough for me.
It was a James Bond Christmas for me and thousands of other kids in 1965. The first photo shows the Bond annual that Santa brought me which featured images from the first three Connery films and has remained faithfully by my side since then. Underneath is the best-selling Corgi Aston Martin DB5 as featured in “Goldfinger”. Unfortunately I don’t have the original toy as given to me that Christmas. If I did I’d have flogged it and would now be writing this blog from my beachfront mansion in Hawaii. We had lots of fun ejecting the bad guy from the passenger seat then spending the next thirty minutes looking for the bastard thing on our multi-coloured carpet before launching him to his death again. The fun we used to have back then. You wouldn’t believe.
Tune in again next week for my take on the best films of 1965, the ‘Disney classic’ “Song of the South” notwithstanding.
Steve Mayhew 