Читать книгу It’s Not What You Think - Chris Evans - Страница 21

10 Mint cracknel

9 Ice Breaker

8 Cough candy

7 Cola cubes

6 Refreshers

5 Black Jacks/Fruit Salad mix

4 Texan

3 Merry Maids chocolate caramels

2 Lyons midget gems

1 Curlywurly

After walking out of the grammar school that day, after my altercation with Nutjob the physics teacher, I just carried on walking, I walked all the way home.

For the first mile or so, I was still shaking with adrenaline, I felt no anger or fear, I was satisfied that my actions were justified. I kept going over in my mind what had happened and how crazy it was that one’s circumstances could change so quickly. Soon it was like it had happened to someone else, and as my journey continued, my mind began to clear and it wasn’t long before I found myself thinking about other things.

I had undertaken this three-and-a-bit-mile journey on foot several times before but usually in the summer when I had chosen to spend my bus fare on a bag of fizz bombs or a can of Lilt instead. I had a feeling this might be the last time I might have to consider such a dilemma instead of paying for the bus purchase.

When I arrived home, much earlier than expected, another Curlywurly had bitten the dust. (Who came up with the Curlywurly, by the way? Not only the concept of the funky lattice-shaped bar but the name Curlywurly—it has to be the coolest name in the world of confectionary.)

‘How come you’re home so early, love, has something happened?’ Mum asked, naturally surprised to see me.

I managed to explain as honestly as I could what had taken place at school that day and that I knew I’d done wrong but that I didn’t think a grown man should be allowed to hit a child in such a way. She listened intently, without saying a word. After she’d heard what I had to say, she congratulated me on my decisive action and said she would enquire about a new school the very next day. Her exact words were: ‘You’re not going back there, over my dead body.’

Mum is a very no-nonsense person and once a chapter is closed that’s it—it’s time to move on. Though she has never admitted it, I believe she went back to the grammar school soon after to give the headmaster a piece of her mind and to set the record straight.

Her enquiries as to a new school resulted in my being much nearer to home, albeit at a comprehensive school. Not that I had a problem with comprehensives, but they were generally considered inferior to the much grander grammar schools. Comprehensive schools were where you went if you couldn’t get in anywhere else.

This school was a bit special though. It was a brand new school, where my year, the fourth year, were the eldest—there was no fifth form or sixth form yet. The school was so new that in fact half of it was still being built—hence its reduced capacity and the additional need for Portakabins as classrooms.

This new school was also an altogether much more civilised affair. The classrooms were much brighter, the teachers called you by your first name and their teaching methods were far less draconian, with not a cane nor a slipper in sight—and there were girls!

*Most of them courtesy of Dad on Saturday afternoons.