The Happiest Days of Our Lives

School days of course, we're all supposed to love them, harking back to a gentler, kinder world. Bollocks to that.

I got a phone call, out of the blue the other night, from someone I'd never heard of, they'd got my number from my Dad (thanks Dad) and were arranging a 25 year reunion from my A Level 6th Form days (1981-1983)*. A shudder went down my spine. At that moment I couldn't think of anything I'd like to do less than attend a School reunion and a week later I still can't. Sticking pins in my eyes is more preferable. What are these people on?

It doesn't help that the school was a cliquey bunch of wankers who I despised with every part of my intellect. The Rugger Buggers, the hockey girls (you really need to say "girls" in an affected Edinburgh accent for full effect, even though the school in question is in Norn Iron) the posh, the spawn of civil servants, geeks (the 6th form had an Apple II computer no less, heady times indeed). That school (which will remain nameless to protect the plebs) was mirrored in every US High School Comedy/Horror show of the last 30 years. I hate it, them and everything about it.

Now if it had been a reunion from my O level days (1979-1981) that would have been a different story. Different School, different (better) people. In that case fond memories outweigh the nightmares. We were a great bunch, fighting against the bitch thatcher in all our mod or blitz kid finery, happy days indeed.

* I politely declined.

Category:

• Personal
• School