Mi Skool Daze (A storrie)

Autobiographical

This was originally written in response to a female I met online around 2003 she seemed very nice and was quite friendly  and came from somewhere like Moldavia or at least had a passport for that country.  I think she was resident in Romania, fairly slim build with dark brown hair. She liked to call me ‘Sweet thing.’ Though I guess this was more a standard greeting for anyone who might have had some money to spare. This was at the same time as I was in a loveless and often abusive relationship and despite the shaky quality of the webcam and its connection was perhaps a catalyst for getting out of it. I wrote all of the following during a lunch break at a dodgy bakery where they smothered Chocolate cakes in gravy browning and charged an arm and a leg for the things.

Woman I will try to express my inner feelings and thankfulness.

When writing a book you ought to consider 3 things: the beginning,the middle and the end. What the rules are for writing a letter I do not know. Obviously I have written plenty of letters in the past, however none of them were about how I felt or indeed how I feel.  this one I hope and feel will be the first of many, only time will tell.

When I first started out on the rocky path called life, I knew something had to be done. That I wanted to do something, quite what I did not know. But there was certainly something, I freely admit I made mistakes well who doesn’t? Yeah I made a few.  Looking back upon these things with an unblinkered eye and no obstruction in my way. I realise that these things were not all caused by my own fault. Rather through the influence of others and the environment from which I came.  Rather than nurturing and developing what talent there may have been, it was repressed and crushed till it was nigh visible. The teacher shouted, the pupil shrank. You are nothing, boy was the usual phrase heard at the school I went to.  They controlled your head through the classroom, you are hear to listen, boy!  Shut up. When that did not work, the  treatment became harsher:  Isolation as if you were dirty or infected. Then if the first was not harsh enough, there was physical punishment, for what? Laughing out loud was one of them, I mean what is wrong with laughing.  Is it a crime to smile and be happy?  Yes of course I broke the rules, Smoking behind the hall, pissing around like children do  and  for that you could expect trouble. But laughing?  They may as well have stopped us from breathing. Turned us into animated dummies, or is that what the educational system is designed to do. Creativity in the class room,  copy this  and draw that. Don’t even think of using your mind. (that might have been dangerous.) Mr. Crowley had a strange way of encouraging creativity in the craft lessons, mind you  he was nuts and threw knives at people.  Smashing up your work if you breathed out of turn, unintentionally  he alternately frightened the shit out of us or made us behave even worse.   Unfortunately those were his milder rages, I think he was just a frustrated angry old man  who had a best friend in his pipe of tobacco and his crafty stuff.  It was quite bizarre at times,   he would gather us around and start speaking about someone’s pot they had just created and  spoke about the curve of it, the shadow it threw.  This alternately could be put to a basket someone may have just weaved.  You get the picture? All it would take was  for someone to do something out of turn, lets say scratch their nose or perhaps yawn, then he would go of on one. Seizing whatever was at hand and pummelling said creative effort into the table top and I mean he would flatten it.    At the same time he would rave and shout that his father had been eaten by ants in the jungle for this, that and the other and apparently it was all our fault. The other favourite was I cycle all the way from Farnham to teach you bloody lot. Big deal, it  was only three miles.  As for the first accusation, I would love to have seen how he came to his conclusions. It is beyond me how he ever worked this one out and it is all very fine blaming the Ants. Still they had done what they had done and like I said it was our fault.  However Henry Crowley as was his name just appeared to be  an angry man with a pipe.

So apart from a mad craft teacher who threw knives. Some of us had an alcoholic house master, who found it funny to act the fool and keep us children amused. He organised games of forfeits when there was fuck all else to do for an evenings entertainment.   I had to dress up backwards by that I mean putting all my clothes on back to front. I must have looked a right muppet. Unfortunately the headmaster saw me in this state, it was at evening prayers. He was not amused, trying to explain away my position only dug the hole deeper and resulted in a sound beating for my efforts. I was lucky, someone else got to eat soap, he was farting bubbles that reeked of Carbolic for  a week afterwards. 

Talking about beatings and especially canings it was traditional to expose the injured body part (Always the backside) to the rest of the dormitory, for common inspection. Billy always said: “This is mild compared to what you will get out in the big wide world lad”. He was right, I have had to pay a fortune for every beating since, the Domme down the road is very strict about that. Billy would then make  you shake his hand, like you had done him a good service or something.

DOMINA

It wasn’t all that bad and some of it was actually quite good fun. We got to fool around in the woods and play war or something,  whatever it is that children do. Sometimes we even got to go to ‘Birdworld’ Though we only ever saw the fishes there and never the birds. Unless you included the penguins, so for us first and second years it became fish world.  I suspect it was like this because Pecker had a bird complex,   more on that later.  My pissed house master swam in the nude, ate his ear wax and was ming. The school secretary  found him having a swim one early morning when she was walking up through the school after parking her car.  So that must have been nice for her, I still remember her name and  as far as I remember she was  the only member of the school staff who never seemed to drop anyone in the shit.  Even the domestic staff would have a go at that and more often than not  succeed. 

RUSSALINA

Apart from a bit of editing this is pretty much what was written, with a couple of pages left to work through. Unfortunately my handwriting is somewhat appalling and makes me cringe and squint when trying to decipher the squiggles.

I hope to write some more of this soon, though from a point it will have nothing to do with the original letter that incidentally was never posted.

Priests, Perverts and Paint

Autobiographical, politics and religion

I was going to write about a bunch of technically homeless old men who are looking for a new place to live. I thought against that and thought about painting and why I do that and promptly thought of something else instead, it would appear I do a lot of thinking. Sometimes too much. So instead I shall write a little about myself just a little mind cause otherwise it will get tiresome and we can’t be having that.

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DOWNSIDE ABBEY AND SCHOOL

At Sixteen I got sent to a school located near the City of Bath in Somerset, attached to the school was/is a monastery inhabited by a bunch of monks who taught in the school. Some of these Monks were also Priests the monastery and school were intrinsically linked to each other, and some of the monks could not keep their hands to themselves… The rest as they say is history and more recently karma.

It would now be the right time to say why I paint, well right now it’s because the rough bare door frames look horrible and need improvement, the other reason is I do not have much else to be doing and I want it done and out of the way. Sometimes I would like to write about why I really paint . The door frame, in the meantime shall be taking precedence.

In the news

Uncategorized

Finding myself these last few days at a loss of sorts and aimlessly dabbing at canvas with a paint brush and not getting any satisfaction or sense of purpose in the action. Don’t get me wrong I have not gone off painting, but I do know when I have been leaving one thing out to concentrate on another, in doing so upsetting the balance of things. So what has been happening? A bunch of dodgy monks are leaving a draughty cold old monastery and an adjacent school. They disgraced themselves a few years ago, is it necessary to explain how? Kind of sad in a way, seeing as I went to the place, the school that is, not the monastery. However their pigeons have come home to roost and long may they continue to do so.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-somerset-53951730

I have to remind myself that writing is part of creativity, cause I often forget, still the painting side of things is coming along just fine, so is my studying. However things like the garden, the house maintenance and other stuff has all been neglected, in fact I am getting up late and not doing that much during when I am. Why? i do not know or have an idea as to why, maybe it’s the weather, procrastination can be a terrible thing. So let us move forwards and get stuff done, do the paint work, tidy up the garden and clean the car out. Being profitable and useful no matter the weather,sitting around, doing nothing and feeling the worse for it, does no good whatsoever.

Maybe I ought write everyday, each morning whilst letting the Coffee do its work. It certainly worked before which means it will probably work again, it felt good too So I shall do it again. Other news? Well you can start with the BBC and move on from on there.

Jessica writes

Autobiographical, Uncategorized

To say we are living in Interesting times would be an understatement. I do not think I have ever spent so much time on virtual lock down since I was put in  isolation during my school days, and that was due to the punitive regime in force, not any contagion or disease. You could say Public (private) school taught me  a couple of valuable life lessons, the other being making use of whatever it is you have at hand and occupying every moment you have with something to prevent madness setting in.

If you are lucky enough to live by yourself like I am and are by nature a bit of an introvert then you may well know where I am coming from, for someone who likes his dinner at a regular time and would rather go to the library than out clubbing I am in my element. I have the cats, The garden, my art and the laptop. Bingo! my only complaint is I am rather low on the Pasta front so may have to go out and look for some in the next couple of days.

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Throughout this last week of shutting myself away, the weather has been kind and the sun has shone. Despite the cold breeze it has been nice and I am glad it has not been wet and grey cause that would be no fun whatsoever. Some good news I started doing my annual planting of the seeds a few years ago with the idea, that some of them will turn into food, I now have baby plants sticking their heads up through the soil. The kitchen windowsill is working its magic again. I am using Greenhouse magic as well, but Beans  and Peas take a little longer. Everything is well wrapped up in Muslin so ought be snug and warm, the sun shall do the rest.

J is doing well and bearing her load with the fortitude and resilience of her people, she is in safe hands and we speak several times a day. She is largely absent of the news at the moment, so we laugh about politicians and family members instead.

Meanwhile I must give thanks for my continuing good health, my international dialling card and the multitude of stuff I can occupy myself with until such a time when things get back to normal, or should I say Less interesting.