Poopy-poo-poo [or, Didn’t I sleep well last night?]
I didn’t realise that driving could be so exhaustive.
“But Elsabeth, you don’t drive!”, I hear you cry.
No, so thank goshness for the likes of BSM. I don’t know if they’re the best personages to learn with, but my instructor is pretty nifty *sigh*. Once he’d taken me to a quiet lane in the middle of nowhere and tried out a few manoeuvres on me [*wink wink*] he happily proclaimed that I’d made remarkable progress and should be very proud of myself [I got all the way up to 4th gear *squeal*]. Yes, so I stalled a couple of times and something somewhere crunched at some point [the clutch?, which incidentally I keep calling the crutch for some odd reason so rectify my mistake if mistake I make], I bunny-hopped about three times and I panicked when another car decided to race towards me on this funny little lane, but considering it was my first lesson I feel rather happy.
But, like I said, I never realised it was so exhaustive. All that concentration left me with a rather fine headache. And when we later travelled to Tesco I couldn’t take my eyes off The Blokey’s feet because all that cl[r]utch business leaves me confuggled.
And why did no one ever tell me that the steering wheel goes around all the way and a little more?
But it’s all fandangly – I don’t have another lesson for almost two weeks so if you’re in the Eastern Angles area of England you can use the roads in perfect safety …
It’s funny how memories can suddenly come bounding up and bite you on the bottom, leaving the sort of scar which niggles away at you as you desperately try to grasp one particular aspect of the memory. Yesterday I was searching for my David Grey CD amongst our extensive/meagre [depending on who you are and how many CDs you yourself have] collection and instead I happened across a Pennywise CD.
Blimey, the memories didn’t so much bound up and bite as attack viciously with a sharp knife … I was transported back to mid 1996 with memories of getting stoned in the BullyBoy’s bedroom and romping on his bed whilst his parents, sister and brother-in-law ate their Sunday dinner in the room below. We would either be listening to one of his favourite bands [which became my favourite bands] on the stereo or watching a video, usually hastily and illegally compiled by a naughty friend of his, of one of the bands.
Yesterday I re-discovered [the Internet is a wonderful thing] some of his favourite bands [which became my favourite bands] and almost cried at the silly memories and the pain that they unleashed. But in a way listening to the likes of Pennywise, Green Day, Bad Religion and NOFX also made me remember that it wasn’t all bad with him. We did have good times. Even if most of those good times did involve alcohol or drugs … *shrug*.
And now that I’m older, and happily in love with a wonderful man, I can remember with sadness how The BullyBoy, then thirty-one years old, tattooed to the hilt, user of emotionally nasty remarks, owner of big fists, shaven of head, cried like a baby when I put him on the train to send him home to his mum.
I think of him sometimes. Not in a regretful way. My caring nature just wonders what happened to him. Sometimes I just simply assume that he’s dead, either through annoying someone or drugs. I’ll probably never really know.
And I don’t really need to know.
All I really need to know is the name of the song that we had on a compilation video, a track we loved and bopped along to like the kids we were[n’t]. And I can’t remember it. I can’t even remember the band. At all. It’s bugging me. And it bugs me more that maybe I’ll never know what it was but that I’ll always have an image in my head of a split second of the video. Madness.
Bah! Arse! Feck!
And all this has just reminded me that I used to be friends with this scary looking chap …
And yet, I never knew that his band was quite as popular as it was. He was just some chap called Lainey who played pool with me in the punky/gothic pub that I frequented whilst at uni. One night he stopped BullyBoy from hitting me. Bless him. It’s a funny old world.
please God bless my memory and let me remember unimportant things xxx Elsabeth