Read Online It's Not What You Think by Chris Evans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Evans
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There would then be a bit of a lull between 6.30 and 7.30 when we’d try to get most of the boys loaded and on their way—if they had turned up by then that is—and then the school kids would start to come in at around a quarter to eight.
Eight till nine would see a procession of younger pupils stocking up on their daily supply of sweets and snacks and as the big hand headedtowards nine, in would come the young mums with their little bundles of joy off to playschool. Finally, the pensioners would begin to assemble on parade ready to descend upon the post office for their various benefits and other requirements.
The OAPs often arrived much earlier than they needed to. They used to meet their pals for a chinwag but Ralph made them queue up outside so as not to clog up the shop—even in the rain, even in the snow in the middle of winter. I suppose he had a point but it just seemed so wrong. These people were elderly, often infirm, and most of them had served in one if not both of the wars so we could still have a bloody post office in the first place.
I vowed that, whatever else I did in my life, I had to make enough money never to have to queue up in the rain for my pension. That’s the least well off I ever wanted to be.
As my time behind the counter progressed I would stay on at the shop for as long as I could until the last possible minute before I had to leave to go to school. The shop was now my life, whereas school was quickly becoming the villain of the piece, a place I attended just because I had to, a mere interruption to my busy working day.
As far as I was concerned I was learning more of what I needed to know about life and how to get on at the shop every weekday morning and evening, all day Saturday as well as Sunday up until lunchtime, than I ever could from my lessons. If I could have left school there and then I would have done. School had taught me all it could by now and in my opinion had taken up far too much of my time in the process.
Top 10 Treats *
10 Mint cracknel
9 Ice Breaker
8 Cough candy
7 Cola cubes
6 Refreshers
5 Black Jacks/Fruit Salad mix
4 Texan
3 Merry Maids chocolate caramels
2 Lyons midget gems
1 Curlywurly
After walking out of the grammar school that day, after my altercation with Nutjob the physics teacher, I just carried on walking, I walked all the way home.
For the first mile or so, I was still shaking with adrenaline, I felt no anger or fear, I was satisfied that my actions were justified. I kept going over in my mind what had happened and how crazy it was that one’s circumstances could change so quickly. Soon it was like it had happened to someone else, and as my journey continued, my mind began to clear and it wasn’t long before I found myself thinking about other things.
I had undertaken this three-and-a-bit-mile journey on foot several times before but usually in the summer when I had chosen to spend my bus fare on a bag of fizz bombs or a can of Lilt instead. I had a feeling this might be the last time I might have to consider such a dilemma instead of paying for the bus purchase.
When I arrived home, much earlier than expected, another Curlywurly had bitten the dust. (Who came up with the Curlywurly, by the way? Not only the concept of the funky lattice-shaped bar but the name Curlywurly—it has to be the coolest name in the world of confectionary.)
‘How come you’re home so early, love, has something happened?’ Mum asked, naturally surprised to see me.
I managed to explain as honestly as I could what had taken place at school that day and that I knew I’d done wrong but that I didn’t think a grown man should be allowed to hit a child in such a way. She listened intently, without saying a word. After she’d heard what I had to say, she congratulated me on my decisive action and said she would enquire about a new school the very next day. Her exact words were: ‘You’re not
There would then be a bit of a lull between 6.30 and 7.30 when we’d try to get most of the boys loaded and on their way—if they had turned up by then that is—and then the school kids would start to come in at around a quarter to eight.
Eight till nine would see a procession of younger pupils stocking up on their daily supply of sweets and snacks and as the big hand headedtowards nine, in would come the young mums with their little bundles of joy off to playschool. Finally, the pensioners would begin to assemble on parade ready to descend upon the post office for their various benefits and other requirements.
The OAPs often arrived much earlier than they needed to. They used to meet their pals for a chinwag but Ralph made them queue up outside so as not to clog up the shop—even in the rain, even in the snow in the middle of winter. I suppose he had a point but it just seemed so wrong. These people were elderly, often infirm, and most of them had served in one if not both of the wars so we could still have a bloody post office in the first place.
I vowed that, whatever else I did in my life, I had to make enough money never to have to queue up in the rain for my pension. That’s the least well off I ever wanted to be.
As my time behind the counter progressed I would stay on at the shop for as long as I could until the last possible minute before I had to leave to go to school. The shop was now my life, whereas school was quickly becoming the villain of the piece, a place I attended just because I had to, a mere interruption to my busy working day.
As far as I was concerned I was learning more of what I needed to know about life and how to get on at the shop every weekday morning and evening, all day Saturday as well as Sunday up until lunchtime, than I ever could from my lessons. If I could have left school there and then I would have done. School had taught me all it could by now and in my opinion had taken up far too much of my time in the process.
Top 10 Treats *
10 Mint cracknel
9 Ice Breaker
8 Cough candy
7 Cola cubes
6 Refreshers
5 Black Jacks/Fruit Salad mix
4 Texan
3 Merry Maids chocolate caramels
2 Lyons midget gems
1 Curlywurly
After walking out of the grammar school that day, after my altercation with Nutjob the physics teacher, I just carried on walking, I walked all the way home.
For the first mile or so, I was still shaking with adrenaline, I felt no anger or fear, I was satisfied that my actions were justified. I kept going over in my mind what had happened and how crazy it was that one’s circumstances could change so quickly. Soon it was like it had happened to someone else, and as my journey continued, my mind began to clear and it wasn’t long before I found myself thinking about other things.
I had undertaken this three-and-a-bit-mile journey on foot several times before but usually in the summer when I had chosen to spend my bus fare on a bag of fizz bombs or a can of Lilt instead. I had a feeling this might be the last time I might have to consider such a dilemma instead of paying for the bus purchase.
When I arrived home, much earlier than expected, another Curlywurly had bitten the dust. (Who came up with the Curlywurly, by the way? Not only the concept of the funky lattice-shaped bar but the name Curlywurly—it has to be the coolest name in the world of confectionary.)
‘How come you’re home so early, love, has something happened?’ Mum asked, naturally surprised to see me.
I managed to explain as honestly as I could what had taken place at school that day and that I knew I’d done wrong but that I didn’t think a grown man should be allowed to hit a child in such a way. She listened intently, without saying a word. After she’d heard what I had to say, she congratulated me on my decisive action and said she would enquire about a new school the very next day. Her exact words were: ‘You’re not
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