What A Smart Boy!

When I was in the first year, and as the eldest son, I was on occasions made to don the uniform to display to relatives to show-off "what a smart-looking boy" and all that excruciating stuff. Anyway my youngest brother was born when I was in the 1st year, and one Sunday when he was only a few weeks old, we had Aunt Biddy O'whatshername round "to see the lovely new baby, and the smart wee boy at Grammar school"

On this Sunday, Ed decided that he didn't like Cow & Gate milk, and proceeded to spew it up in my direction and all over my uniform. It wasn't ordinary vomiting, but the rarer projectile variety normally only on view outside curry houses in suburban towns at the weekend.

As this was Sunday evening, there was a mad panic to get everything washed and dried before Monday morning. There was no such thing as spare parts! Personally I would have been quite happy to have gone to school as the first punk 10 years ahead of its time.
(John T 66-71)

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