Читать книгу Class of '79 - Chris Rooke - Страница 5

My friends and I were now all 18 and we were set to have a great summer holiday that would knock Cliff Richard’s little jaunt into a cocked hat. Surely awaiting us on the South coast was sun, sand and sex (well, at least kissing - or to be honest, maybe even just talking to a girl would be great!) I went to an all-boys school and meeting the opposite sex was always something of a struggle.

In readiness for the holiday, I spent even more time on the Mini, customising the chrome front grill, fitting a roof rack (remember those huge grey alloy things that looked a bit like a shallow lobster basket?) and adding that all-important accessory, an 8-track cassette player! Oh, Yeah!! We were ready to rock and roll with sun-kissed bikini-clad beach babes! Bring it on! 5 of us (yes, FIVE – hence the roof rack) somehow squeezed into the Mini – bear in mind that by then we were five fully grown teenagers, so there were legs and arms everywhere, but no seatbelts, of course. We had two tents, a primus stove, a few clothes, and of course some ‘weed’. With all the students, and its proximity to London, Oxford was awash with drugs, and we’d all been smoking dope/weed since were about 16, and it was smoking weed that kind of bound us all together – it ticked all the boxes: it was illegal (tick), our parents disapproved (tick), our teachers disapproved (tick), it was supposedly potentially harmful (tick), and above all, of course, it got us completely stoned out of our heads! (tick)

Setting off on our Summer Holiday!