Memory (Grove) Lane.

I went back to my old school yesterday, for the first time since I left, back in '91. My old school is called Handsworth Grammar School For Boys, which, unsurprisingly, is a grammar school for boys.(Although these days, they let girls join the sixth form, something unheard of in my day-actual females!) Famous alumni of the school include the well-known cartoonist of the past 'Larry'(Terrance Parkes), jazz tramp Charlie Mitton, Denis Howell MP (deceased), Vikram Dodd( fairly famous journalist who writes for the Guardian. He was a few years above me at school, but I remember him launching the school paper which was called The Litter Bin, which was utter drivel. His nickname was VD, I think, so we wouldn't buy the paper, saying it had 'VD' all over it! Urgghhh!), and shit-haired Labour MP, journalist and talented David Cameron impressionist Sion Simon. For some strange reason, people never say "Mick Trimble used to come here! Wow!!"
I went there yesterday with my youngest daughter, who was taking her 11+ exam, and my old school (that's its badge in the picture) was the venue. At the end, when I went to pick her up again, I was surprised to see some of my old teachers were still working there. One of them shouted at me for standing too far to the right (it was just like old times). Like five feet makes all the difference, you old jobsworth cunt. He was a cunt when I was atttending the place and he's still a cunt fifteen years later. Cunt.
The school has had a lot of work done to it since I last bunked off. It was mostly a dilapidated shithole then, but now, it looks modern and clean. These kids today don't know they're born!On the way out with my daughter, I saw another old teacher of mine. I always thought he was okay, so I went up and said hello. This man didn't have a fucking scooby who I was, which is fair enough as he only taught me French twice a week for six fucking years. Oh, and he banned me and five other boys from every school trip ever because he found beer and wine in our hotel room on a French trip. Wasn't my fault, it was the bigger boys, sir. And the French shopkeeper who sold us the alcohol in the first place. I digress. Anyway, when I said my name I could tell he didn't remember me, but to his credit, he pretended to and we chatted for a few minutes, until I put him out of his misery and buggered off. I think he was shell shocked that someone he taught is bringing their own children to the school to take the 11+! It's bound to make you feel old.
It was heartening for me to find out I made no impression whatsoever in my time at school.