Lake District weekend May 1977

So times move on. It's May 1977. If you were an Abba fan, then you probably had a copy of 'Knowing me  knowing you' - I wasn't, so I didn't. Still had no moped, no girlfriend. End of school was in sight and  the Salad day's were about to end.. But one last flourish before the shock of adulthood was in order.

A trip to the Lake District was in the offing, and my local youth club had booked a mini-bus, I found myself adding my name to the travel list along with buddies Ian and Mike so one Friday  in May 1977 we find ourselves trundling up the M6 toward Keswick. A weekend with teenage friends, without the shackles of adults seemed appealing. OK, there were the youth workers, but they had an air of liberalism about them that suggested we could make the weekend interesting.
Arriving at the youth Hostel just north of Grasmere, we discovered a malevolent looking stone building miles from anywhere. 'Dunmail Rise' it was called. We were told it had been an isolation hospital, and that the large stone shelves adjacent  to the kitchen had been the slabs on which the bodies were laid. I've no idea if it were true, but the story kept a large group of teenagers from wandering around at night!

Having dropped the bags upstairs, I trogged into the front room of the house, and in my 'I'm not  interested in Sue any more' mode, set about chatting up one of the girls from the youth Club, who I'll  call Carol, as I think that's what her name was. Now I wasn't very good at this at all, but somehow  the being away from home thing caused a rush of blood to the head, and I was far more forward than I ever had been before, or indeed should have been at all. The basis of the conversation was along the lines that there was plenty of room in my sleeping bag if it got cold (Ignoring the other 10 people  sleeping in the room of course). Carols response was something along the lines of f*ck off - and to be honest, looking back I don't hold it against her.

My Mate (Mike) and I, went outside and surveyed the mountain above the Hostel, gazing at the imposing  fellside, we hatched a plan to walk to the ridge above in the remaining daylight, so we toiled up to the ridge, only to see another ridge, and again we went on. Eventually we arrived on the edge of that ridge, only to see the summit some way off. I wasn't overly keen on the light level, and showed some common sense by suggesting we turn back down the hill. But Mike said no, and struck forward by  himself. I committed the cardinal sin of turning back and leaving him. By the time I got down the hill  it was dark, and as you will know if you've ever been in the countryside in the darkness, its properly dark! Mikes absence caused consternation amongst the rest of the crew, and once again I displayed how  sensible I was by telling the youth leader how I was against the plan, and the risks involved being on  the mountain without the correct equipment. Except they weren't interested in how sensible I was, just  the welfare of somebody who clearly wasn't sensible.
With no mobile phones, and no phone in the lodge, somebody would have to report him missing by driving  to the nearest town if he didn't arrive back soon..We waited. At about 10.30Pm, the door burst open, and Mike came in. Cold, bedraggled and telling tales about how he made it to the top AND escaped from  the Wolves (I may have made that up, but it was some bollocks or other) - Everybody was his friend,  and wanting to hug him and tell him how glad they were that he was safe. including Carol. What on earth? - When I'm idiotic I get berated as the idiot I purport to be. - When somebody else is  idiotic, everybody's concerned about him and he's a hero.. Work that out.

To this day I doubt he made it up there and back in the time available, but short of going up there and checking if he put a flag on top I shall never be able to prove it.

That night in the dormitory, we had been joined by a small group of teenagers from another town, and as we lay in the dark chatting, they intervened in our conversation and attempted to intimidate us. Clearly they were rough lads and it took all my verbal skills to joust with them and not get a  beating. The same didn't work for another of the lads whose attempt at a brush off involved him being  threatened with a severe kicking. He shut up of course, humiliated in front of us all, while I had acquired some form of respect from the lads across the room. So I slept that with some of the battered self confidence restored. There was some good banter that night, and I am reminded about the nautical story told about the the 'Ship tossing on the sea - while the crew did likewise down below' - and of course the inevitable ghost story involving a severed hand of a dead murderer that crawls around at  night throttling teenagers in their sleeping bags. - I always told that one.....

Saturday brought a trip into Keswick, and left to our own devices, we did what normal teenagers do,  and found an off-license that would serve us alcohol illegally. So there's 3 of us and a couple of  bottles of cider, all that beautiful countryside, and we're throwing up in the park. Philistines!

Have you ever had point in life, where you have the most fleeting glimpse of something beautiful?  Something that isn't quite within your grasp, something that you see once and never again? well that was my Saturday night in May 1977. In an old hall, with music playing she walked into my life and I have the picture of her stored away, her red and black striped T-Shirt that hair, those eyes!
With another youth group, she danced played pool, drank pop and then left. And whenever I hear Boz  Scaggs 'Lido Shuffle', wherever I am, my mind drifts to Castlerigg Manor and the girl from Carlisle. God bless you, wherever you may be.

It's not all plain sailing for the rest of the weekend - I arrived back in Lancashire suffering from food poisoning and projectile vomiting with the most vile  stomach cramps. I was ill for days. - Must have been the bodies in the kitchen hey?

A Teenage Opera - Part 1

You know, I've been think about this for a while. 'All the things that I've done'. Denied the obvious song-writing opportunity by Brandon Flowers, I thought I'd place it in a blog.

Who am I? An ordinary Joe, who kicked out an ordinary life in extraordinary times.. From outside toilets to  man on the moon. Through supersonic flight, the advent of the personal computer and the development of personal communications to a level where everything about yourself is shared in a microscopic way.

But is it?

Yes, sure if I want to tell you what I've just eaten then there's an 'App for that' - But there's no 'App' to tell people what we've seen, what we've digested and the memories we've created. When this body shuts down, as it surely will, either through the ravages of time or outside intervention, (for all I know that will happen tonight or tomorrow) then 'all the things that I've done' will be gone. I'll be a name on the BMD register. A face in a photo unrecognised after a couple of generations.So that's why the written word still has a place, and that's why I'm going to write it down.

Good Times Eagerly Got? Yes that's the title, for many reasons - For sure, there were bad times, but with the passage of time, they just become times. Bad no longer applies, they become the very fibre of who we are and how we conduct ourselves. It wont be in Chronological order, just as it comes So here, in all its crappy detail is part one.

THE MOPED

December 1976. James Hunt is F1 world Champion, Barry Sheene is World 500cc champion. Showaddywaddy go to number 1 with 'Under the moon of love'.

When you're 16, there's only one thing with Kudos, and that’s a Sports Moped.

Back in '72 The government got clever and restricted 16's to 50cc with pedals. The manufacturers got even smarter and built motorcycles with pedals and 50mph performance. The kids went wild. They killed themselves by their hundreds and in '77 the government pulled the plug and restricted them to 30mph by law. But I digress... It’s now '76 and there’s only one place to be. Dicing down the bypass with your mates to see if a Fizzy is faster than an AP50.

So I've spent £10 on a Puch maxi which needed some TLC, and when asked by my parents what I wanted for my 16th Birthday  I said.... The Puch putting 'on the road' - It wasn't a Sports moped of course, but it had an engine and two wheels.So that was heading in the right direction.

Each week, I looked in the garage to see the Puch languishing under a blanket, and each week got closer to that birthday. And each week there was no progress. There was only one conclusion - They'd bought me a sports moped!

Winter arrived early that year, and on the Saturday, I arose greeted by a light covering of snow and the air was crisp. My parents had gone to work, leaving no sign that it was my 16th -I checked the garage, nothing had changed and went out to my Nans where I spent the day. Returning home that evening, the Snow crunched underfoot and darkness had fallen as I made my way down the Greenhill and along Kiln lane, my mind was in overdrive. They knew what I wanted. A Suzuki AP50 - In Red. Just like Sheene's... Ok, nothing like Sheene's, but the imagination ran riot! The poster was on my wall. the brochure was by my bed, these thoughts running through my head,. I was almost shaking with excitement as I walked. - I passed Susan's house, and was distracted by the inviting glow of the lights through the curtains. They exuded warmth and my mind drifted to picture the scene indoors - I wondered what it would be like to feel her smooth flesh now I could legally do so. To kiss her beautiful lips. But that relied on her consent, and that was probably weeks away. if not Months. If not years. - If Ever.
'Chance' was the name of the house in which she lived. A simple word that taunted me every day. - Go on son. Take a chance. Frozen by fear, I never did. But she will crop up more than once on this blog. - I digress again.

The family ware waiting as I walked up the long path to the house. My Brother gave me a Mud Album. My Mother and Father stood smiling in the lounge. My father said 'happy Birthday son... Close your eyes and hold out your hand'

My heart pounded... It’s a key to the moped!!!!

Into my hand they placed a small gift wrapped box. My eyes became the size of saucers, and my hands shook as I tore at the paper, and there it was, layed before me - My 16th birthday present.

A f*cking Travel alarm clock.

"You'll never be late for your paper round again" said my mother, as I mentally surfed a Tsunami of disappointment.. The following morning, I went down to the garage, took a hammer out of my dad’s toolbox, and battered the forlorn Puch to peices.

The c*nts never even noticed.