I was a really well-behaved child at school. Hard to believe I know, but I guess I was a late developer. Is that what you call a dead house builder, by the way? A late developer. That one is for Sam. Anyway, there were of course naughty boys in our class. In fact, there were really bad boys in our class. Inevitable in an East End Grammar school and we wondered how some of them actually passed the 11+. Probably by threatening the examiner. Start as you mean to carry on. Several of my school mates ended up inside, though usually for white collar crime. Though I do remember one boy who celebrated his expulsion by throwing acid at all the coats hanging in the cloak-room and then went on to a fairly well documented life of crime as a gang-land leader.
So, the bad boys in the class were just there to disrupt. There was one year when they dedicated themselves to covering the ceiling with used chewing-gum catapulted up there by means of an ingenious device made from rubber bands… if only they’d channeled their inventive genius into a more positive direction. And then another term when they drove a teacher called Mr Learmonth to distraction by saying his name individually in a loud whisper. The poor bloke turned his head from one side to another to try to catch the culprit but was always one Learmonth behind. Finally he broke and gave us (innocent me, Colin and Jeff… the worst thing the three of us did was to break our chemical balance on our first experiment and stick it together with chewing gum… a better use of it than flicking it on to the ceiling I would suggest) a class detention. And that’s what Bojo has given us. But for 21 days instead of one hour. I know people were breaking the rules, but wouldn’t it just have been easier to have given the whole population 100 lines of “I must stick to the Government guidelines”? And see how that played out.
Meanwhile, is anybody else watching the current series of “Curb Your Enthusiasm“ except me, my wife and our friends Colin and Angela? My old pal Col is becoming a real star of these blogs, isn’t he? For a long time now Col and I have been turning into Larry David, or perhaps he based himself on us in the first place. I’ve yet to recount the story of Larry, my son and Wanda at Soho Beach House in Malibu, but having intrigued you (I think) I may well keep that tale (or tail as it involves Wanda) until a day when my material is running thin. No chance of that yet, but I mention ‘Curb‘ because in one episode Jon Hamm (yes, he of Mad Men fame) plays himself making a film in which the character is based on Larry. To research that he asks if he can follow him around for a while and gradually he turns into a better looking LD (as another character Leon insists on calling him). Well, a much better looking version. I’ve never understood how LD gets so many women, but it’s a source of constant encouragement to ordinary looking, bald men of a certain age, like me.
Now, you may think I have lost the plot when I think of Bojo and think Larry David. The one is, how can I say this so as not to offend Bojo, blonde and podgy, the other bald and painfully thin? But it does appear to me (and has anybody else noticed this?) that, having written a very average biography of Winston Churchill, Bojo is turning into him (WC not LD!). It’s all there, the rhetoric (we’re fighting this virus on the beaches, the land, the sea and the air … or something like that. I can’t be bothered to look it up or call Paul, my younger son, who will know for sure, as he is the only person I know who knows more about the Second World War and, in particular the Battle of the Bulge, than anybody who fought in it). He’s also adopted that pugnacious Churchillian stance… I’m fairly sure he’s pretty handy with the V-sign as well… or at least two fingers in the shape of a V … and the method of delivery of speeches. Every pronouncement he makes sounds more dramatic and more important than the last and I am sure he and his script writers (they sound more like scripts than speeches) are preparing the material for his own autobiography, the rights to which I feel confident he has already sold. The next time we see him I am convinced he will be puffing on a huge cigar a glass of expensive vintage brandy in his hand, wearing an artist’s smock and with an easel in the background. I bet he’s already demolished a wall at the rear of Number 10 so that he can build it again with his own fair hands. In the presence of selected photographers of course. He’s been building bridges with people for most of his political career (particularly to replace those he’s burned in the first place) so surely a wall shouldn’t be beyond his talents. Perhaps whilst he is at it he can build a nursery as well (and not of the gardening kind). Yip, just like Winnie, Bojo is inspirational in these dark days. In fact he makes them lighter, hopefully like my blogs.
Continuing the war theme (and you know by now how I like to develop themes) my son Nicky sent me a photo last night of him sitting in the lobby of his LA apartment block, wearing a mask, suitcases by his side, waiting for the Uber to take him to LAX on the first leg of his journey home. He looked like a survivor of the Dunkirk retreat waiting for a little boat to get him back to England. Or in his case, a Virgin Atlantic plane. So when he lands at around 1pm that will be one down (well, not literally I hope) and one to go in the shape of Wanda, who us due to fly tomorrow on BA. Here’s hoping they are happily re-united. Big ‘Awwww’ from everybody.
Returning to the theme of Curb (and I urge those of you who have never seen it to invest in all the box sets), it was Larry David who first introduced to me, or at least recognised, that there was such a thing as a “cut off time” when making night-time calls, I think it’s probably 9.30 pm but again any counter suggestions are welcome. He also observed that once you have changed into your “sweat pants” (read jogging bottoms or onesies) that you don’t get changed back to go out for whatever reason. A cat may be trapped in a neighbouring tree, the neighbouring house may be on fire, your child may be trapped in a neighbouring tree … but you are in your sweat pants sprawled out on the sofa watching tv and there is no obligation on you to move. Your day has come to an end. Full stop. And the second full stop (if that’s a grammatical possibility) is the cut off time.
Now, I think like a lot of people I am waking up earlier and earlier. So what is the “cut-in” time to make morning calls? And what is the cut-in time to get out of bed and make your partner a cup of tea or coffee? Or do you just have to lie there until there is some other reason or necessity to get up. We’ve decided on 6.15 am for the morning drink and, as ever, I am the hero who goes downstairs whatever the weather conditions to make them.
So, what are we all missing? What’s changed forever? Another long-lost singer Ral Donner recorded a song called “You don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it”. The second line was ‘you gave me all your love, but I abused it’. That’s not really relevant, but I thought I would toss it in so show off on my obscure trivia knowledge of 60’s pop. I’m missing the old computer virus, so harmless now we put it into context, that awful fizzy drink called ‘Corona’ (would drink it by the gallon if I had the chance), those adverts for yoga retreats where you could be isolated … the list is endless.
Still, no point in dwelling on the past. Today’s another day, the sun is shining (even though I can’t go out and walk in it). Spring is springing as flowers poke their little heads up in our garden (the gardeners abandoned us today as well so am just awaiting the arrival of The Triffids). Reasons to be cheerful, as the old song goes. Let’s think of some more between today and tomorrow and all try to curb our enthusiasm (or lack of) for what’s going on.
Stay safe and well.