Down by the school yard

Happened to be in Leicestershire today, so called by my old school. Astonishing how little it had changed. Although I must have used this entrance every day for five years (the first and sixth years being spent in another building), I still remember it as the place where I snogged Joy Taylor after the sixth form disco (probably the same evening when I borrowed my Dad's raincoat and it was nicked from the cloakroom). She's an OBE now, apparently. Joy Taylor, I mean, not my Dad. Although he probably should be. He was furious about the coat, mind. It was in that two-tone fabric with strands that catch the light.

The papa said "Oy, if I get that boy, I'm gonna stick him in the house of detention."

Earlier I was poking around by the old arts hall and an elderly bloke appeared who turned out to be my old PE teacher. He started there when I did, more than fifty years ago now, and retired in 1998. Still looked and sounded vigorous; keeping fit can pay off, it seems. I didn't like him much as a PE teacher, though.

School's out for ever.