Spring has sprung, the sun is shining and for the first time in many weeks, I am feeling great. The World is indeed in a mess and my anxiety is the worst it's ever been, but I have decided to start living again. For too long, I have been shut inside, watching distressing news bulletins about the war in Ukraine and scaring myself half to death. It really is time to get up, get out and enjoy what life has to offer.

Darrell and I have more or less decided not to go on holiday abroad once again this year. COVID is still rife and with the Ukrainian war getting more terrible by the day, we both feel it is safer to stay in Britain. The south coast does have a lot to explore in terms of natural beauty and things to do, so compared to most, we are relatively lucky. This week, we have started to live a little better.

On Saturday, we both took the day off to go on a bit of a ramble with friends around Rowlands Castle and Stansted House. The day was wonderfully sunny, probably the best day we have had, since summer drew to a close last year. With three dogs, we walked a rather hefty ten miles to the seventeenth century style house, through wooden grounds, still drying out from the depths of winter. As you would expect, we were all rather muddy by the end of the day.

The countryside around the house is stunning, and it felt good to take in some fresh air and enjoy a relaxing walk in the warm spring sun. Chatting with friends, a chocolate brownie or two to keep us going and at the end of our walk, a rather large slice of cake and a coffee in the grounds of the hall. I felt energised and happy to have enjoyed a change of scenery, a pleasant change from the concrete jungle I usually inhabit. Both Darrell and I need more days like this, especially now with summer knocking on the door.

Today, Darrell and I went to see my Father; I had a dentists' appointment at the BUPA clinic in Fareham, so took the opportunity to see Dad at the same time. Tooth pulled out, we went for a bite to eat (yet another slice of cake) and caught up on all the local gossip. This cake eating is getting a little habitual now and while I'm still keeping my weight firmly in check, it's not something I want to do too much; It was bloody gorgeous though, the best carrot cake I've ever tasted.

We also spent time at Titchfield Abbey, an old family friend as it were. As children, we would often walk to the old castle, a short stroll from our house. Dad and I have many happy family memories there, long summer days, picnics in the park and playing football. Yes, there was a time I kicked a ball about, though don't expect it to happen these days.

The last time we visited the old place was ten years ago, when Darrell's family stayed with us from Croatia. It has changed a lot, since I was a child, seeming much smaller than I remember, but it still holds some amazing memories for me, as does the village of Titchfield itself. I suppose the older I get, the more I appreciate the area where I grew up, and the truth is, I do miss it somewhat. In many respects, it is comforting Dad still lives locally, because it does give me the excuse to visit once in a while.

I hope to spend more time travelling through the UK this summer and enjoy all this country has to offer. With Darrell finally home, it seems like the perfect opportunity to explore the British Isles. Whilst I won't be gallivanting to distant shores, I will be revisiting old roots and hopefully seeing even more hidden treasures. I may moan about Britain more than I should, but the reality is, I can't think of anywhere better I'd like to live, certainly not in this World, full of turmoil and pain.

So much is spoken about the lack of community spirit in 2021 and as someone born in the 1970s, I can't disagree. My experiences, growing up in the small market town of Fareham, are very different to that of children in the 2020s. For the most part, I had an idyllic childhood, despite wrestling with my sexuality. My earliest memories are overflowing with recollections of fun filled days, surrounded by friends and family, in an environment I can only dream of today.

I grew up at number 6 Nashe House, in a small suburb of Fareham, called Hill Park. My family all lived within spitting distance, just five or ten minutes away, and we were the first tenants of a new modest two-bedroom flat, one of sixteen, on a small social housing estate on the outskirts of town. Whenever I look back to my childhood, this was the period that resonates with me most. This was a happy, nurturing and cultivating time, the age before life suddenly got hard and the anxiety and stress I still suffer with set in. If the last fifty years of my life was to have a backbone, my early upbringing in Hill Park would be it. This was the best start any young boy could have in life!

As a child I knew all my neighbours, always in and out of each other's houses.  Dancing around Mia's lounge, at five years old, to the sound of classical music, in the flat above; play fighting with Lee in the front garden next door or hiding in the bushes of Mrs Pinks flat on the corner of the block. These were carefree, robust, strength building years, encompassing friends I still speak to today. I never had much as a child; hand me down clothes from extended family and presents bought from a catalogue at Christmas and paid off throughout the year. Occasionally I would get fifty pence pocket money at the end of the week and sweets from Nan on a Saturday afternoon. I did however have a wholesome, healthy, well conditioned upbringing in the safety of a community that always did their best to help!

Looking from my bedroom window, over the communal washing area and resident outbuildings, you could see the local infants school, where I started in the mid 70s. The distant murmur of children skylarking in the extensive green playing fields at lunchtime, especially during that hot summer of 1976, was a familiar sound; almost comforting in nature. Knowing that school was just around the corner, put parents minds at rest, allowing us to walk home for lunch, or freshly made sandwiches to be passed over the fence at midday. Mothers often gossiped together as they walked their brood to school, passing the time of day. Sat in their front gardens with a cup of tea in hand, while hanging out the washing or mowing the lawn, conversing with neighbours was part of the course. Fathers playing a game of football where 'No Ball Games' were allowed; familiar cries of 'dinner's ready, come inside' and all the time, doors unlocked, open to all. Inviting and welcoming, it was all part of the small neighbourhood  in which we lived, an unforgettable period of growth and curiosity.

Walking home with friends and neighbours, or waiting for Mum as she did her hours cleaning at the school, was a reminder of how lucky I was. I wasn't a 'latch key kid,' or left to fend for myself; importantly, Mother was always there. When she was at home, I could see her in the kitchen as I skipped up the meandering path towards number six, waving vigorously, beaming smile on her face. Steam would drift out of the opening at the top of the window, as Mum drained the vegetables for dinner. Once again, always ajar, I would gently push the door, running inside. Dropping my coat and bag in the hallway, darting immediately left, home cooked meals would always be on the table; piping hot, aromatic, hearty and nutritious, they always smelt great and tasted even better.

After dinner, I was allowed to play outside, just for an hour or two. Most of the children who lived in the block were of the same age and attended school together, so playing in the early evening was just part of our day. From the front garden, I would ride my bicycle up and down the pavement outside the flat, around the washing lines and down to the boundary of the school. Feeling venturous, I would often navigate the short distance to the open fields or along the side of the flats, picking blackberries from the bushes. When the street lights began to dim, you could hear Mothers and Fathers calling from the steps of their front door, all of us duly running home.

My childhood, at Nashe House, was not unlike any other of the 70s. Life was far more relaxed back then, there was less traffic on the roads and the streets felt safer. Neighbours were friendlier and happy to communicate. We were well looked after by parents, but also by the community in which we lived. I often reminisce about my early years spent in Fareham, a place I no longer know. As I get older I reflect on the most contented and optimistic days, spent with those closest at a time of innocence and simplicity. I am indeed a product of the 70s, but I am also a small town boy from Fareham, my childhood home, born at a time of upheaval, hope for the future, with my whole life ahead. Things never turned out the way I would have wished, but I have never forgotten my roots and will always be thankful for the auspicious start I had in life!

After getting home from work yesterday evening, I spent half an hour downloading some music to my laptop. The process was simple and straight forward, something many of us do regularly, adding to our digital portfolio, built up over the internet, without leaving the comfort of our own home. Attaching music to our collection has never bean easier; from youtube, spotify and amazon, the number of apps and internet sites selling music has exploded in recent times. Buying our favourite tune is simpler than buying a pint of milk, yet I yearn for a past that no longer exists, a time when buying a 'record' or 'CD' was a part of growing up, a right of passage and the beginning of adulthood!

I bought my first record in the early 1980s, Karma Chameleon; I think it was about 1983 and it was as memorable then as it is now. On a Saturday afternoon, I took the bus from Thorni Avenue, where I lived in Fareham to the centre of town; it was also the first time I had been allowed out on my own at the tender age of twelve years old. I can remember the day well, so well in fact, I actually took a photograph of the bus stop. I was a budding photographer then, as I am now, documenting every aspect of my life. For me being able to get on a bus on my own was important, it finally allowed me the freedom to do what I wanted, without Mum and Dad being around. On that weekend, I was able to explore the town centre, meet friends for a drink and act in a way I had never acted before. I felt like an adult, proudly walking through Fareham precinct, head held high, looking through shop windows trying to find something to buy with my weekly pocket money!

After that weekend, there was no stopping me. Each Saturday I would make the same journey and navigate my way to 'Our Price' to look at the latest singles. Growing up in the seventies and eighties was a special time, unlike today the music charts and the top forty were an important part of teenage life and like most people, I would listen to the radio on a Sunday waiting for the latest chart positions to be announced. Along with millions of others, I would place my C90 cassette in my Bush portable recorder and tape the latest entries, playing the 'chart show' again and again throughout the week.

Together with 'Top Of The Pops' on the television, the latest hit singles were a national institution, everyone took an interest in the biggest hits of the day and it was a part of my life I look back on with fondness. Music does define an era, the way people dressed, acted and the subject matter, important at critical milestones in all of our lives. It is with regret that I now see music shops closing down on high streets across the country, because these were the places that made my generation who they are today.

Like most people I had a large collection of records and later CD's and like my peers, I no longer have these tangible objects, displayed neatly on shelves in my lounge at home. I ripped all of my CD's and recorded all of my cassette tapes to a digital format long ago and the only evidence I have of these items are lists of data on my laptop hard drive, a far cry from my huge collection amassed over many years in the 1980s. 90s and 2000s. In thirty years, the market for music has changed out of all proportion and the luxury of walking down the High Street and buying a piece of history is long gone, along with the childhood I once knew.

The changes that have occurred in all areas of society over the 36 years since I bought my first LP have been dramatic. No longer do we have record players, large HiFi systems and cassette tape players, today we have a small MP3 player, an app on a mobile phone or a file on a PC or tablet. Most people, including me don't even download songs but prefer to stream music from providers online. The way we do things today are very different to yesterday and I have my head firmly stuck in the past. I enjoyed the way things were and probably because of my age hark back to a time that I regard as better, more fulfilling and innocent. We have progressed in the World technologically, bombarded with perfect images and encouraged to buy the latest fashions or subscribe to the latest youtube sensation, that mirrors all those before, we have become part of a generic, banal World, where everything, including music and musicians just look and sound the same. I miss the old days and will do everything I can to keep them alive, as part of this blog. Next time you download a song, maybe think about popping into your local music shop buying a CD and doing what you can to keep the last vestiges of this industry alive. Without your support it wont be long before the final music shop closes and another block of flats is built in its place...Is that what you really want?

A Very Clear Choice!

I began attending Fareham Park School half way through my first year as a junior in January 1969.  Those months were a blur; the only thing of significance that shone through was reading about the Griffins.  I loved these books and they grabbed my attention.  I believe I started a game on the playground, as I got bored at playtime.  One had to travel only on the painted netball lines and could only change directions at a junction.  When I played this with friends, one would have to try and catch the other person.

I was in Mrs Harts’ class for the second year of junior school and have only two memories .... the blue National Health Glasses I had to wear to correct my stigmatism and the boy who sat next to me, who always seemed to step into dogs muck and then scrap it on the bar under the desk.  It smelt foul and was very unpleasant, not just for me but for the rest of the class.  I remember Mrs Hart getting very upset about the smell; we were told to own up to who had stepped in the dogs muck again; no-one put their hand up.  So then there was the search at the end of the day; Mrs Hart went around table by table, searching and letting each table go; we were always last.  The boy would get yelled at; maybe she wanted him to own up at the beginning. For sure after repeated performances of this, she would know who had done it?  I would sweat it out, hoping that she wouldn’t think that I had done it (although I think I did do it once by accident).  Funny how I would think I would be in trouble for something I hadn’t done.  Maybe I got into trouble at home a lot, for things that I was supposed to have done?  I do remember the boy’s name but I wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings.

Life in Mr. Hebron’s class in the third year of junior school was going along well, bar the milk that we had to drink before going out to play.  Oh that milk was so foul.  It may have been cold when it arrived, but by the time we had to drink it, it was warm and oh it made me gag!  I think it was the result of a National Programme to ensure good nutrition for all children.  I was fortunate in that my parents were able to provide good food for my sister and I and that was one of their priorities. Other children were less fortunate; their parents had other values; the paycheck was spent down the pub, before the bills were paid and the family was provided for.  The idea to help provide some of children’s nutritional needs in school with the Milk Programme and free school dinners, is admirable.  I advocate the community helping each other and not deserting the people in times of need.

Playtime was fun, with the other girls in my class. We played two ball on the walls of the school; continued to play the ‘line’ game on the painted netball courts on the playground; and learned how to clap our hands in different ways with each other, at the same time as singing small songs, such as:

     “A sailor went to sea, sea, sea,
     To see what he could see, see, see.
     But all that he could see, see, see,
     Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea.”

This one ditty was pretty apt, as we lived in community where a lot of the men were in the Navy.  We were used to our dads going off to sea or being deployed in Scotland or Plymouth for periods of time.

Then half way through the year, things changed.  They changed because I made a choice.  A choice that I would not change if I had the opportunity over again.  A new girl came to school - half way through the year - just like I had in my first year at junior school.  She and her family had moved into the area.  Others seemed uncomfortable around her.  She wore glasses and was socially awkward at the time.  She sat at our table;  I think I was conscious of how other people felt around her, but I did not feel that way.  Something inside of me knew that something was going to change, if I continued to be friendly to her and become her friend; I felt like it was the right thing to do.

One day we suffered at our table trying to down that warm, off-tasting milk, chatting, and then went out to the playground together.  As we walked out, the girls that I had always played with, hindered our path and confirmed my gut feeling, that things were not going to be the same ever again.  You know, I have never regretted that decision to make friends with the ‘unpopular’ girl.  She was an excellent friend whilst we lived in Fareham and then went our separate ways after college.  My only regret is having lost contact with her when I moved out to the States.  I moved, then moved again and she was moving at the same time and we lost each other’s address.  I wish she had written to me at my mum’s address; she still lives in the same home we moved into in 1969.  Her parents had moved away from their home and I didn’t know where they had gone.

My friend and I hung out together even when we weren’t in the same class.  I went around to her house often.  We would type on our typewriters writing story after story together and then reading them to each other.  I was fascinated by the organ in her house.  She lived near Blackbrook Park which was a decent walk from my home.  It was safe enough in those days, that I could walk to her house by myself, at such a young age.    There is no way I would ever have let my children do that same walk on their own, at the age I was doing it.  My friend had two older sisters that were twins; they were about twenty years older than my friend.  Both her sisters and her mum were very eccentric and flamboyant; her dad was a quiet man.  It was quite intriguing for me to watch them interact and a little intimidating, as I was not used to the behaviours  and didn’t really know how to respond to them.

One of the things that I remember doing at school with my friend, was sitting on the field in the summer, near Fareham Park Infant School and eating our packed lunch.  She always had two or three packets of crisps with her and was always generous enough to share with me.  My mum only bought plain crisps then; sometimes cheese and onion or salt and vinegar but mostly plain.  I recently realized that my mum actually likes plain, lightly salted crisps the best, that’s what she buys as a treat for herself when she comes out to stay with us.  Now that I have twigged they are her favourite, I’ll get them in for her.  My school friend introduced me to smokey bacon, prawn cocktail and Bovril crisps.  It was very exciting for me to try these.  Crisps are one of the things that I miss very much in the States.  The chips out here don’t have the same texture or flavour.

I remember sitting on the grass in the playing field, eating Bovril crisps with her, the day after my mum had the 'birds and the bees' chat with me, the night before.  I was ten years old; I remember feeling quite bewildered and unfocused that day, staring at others playing on the field but not really seeing them; thinking what my mother had told me was quite bizarre and could it possibly be true?  I think my mum had to have the ‘chat’ with me because that year, we had  several movies at school ranging in subjects from accident prevention, germs, and having babies.  Actually the films were really good and I wish my children had seen them.  I still am conscious of not leaving things on the stairs in case someone falls over them going up or down  and all the germs that one can leave on a dish cloth!

My final year at Fareham Park Junior school saw me in Miss Trill’s class as a fourth year.  Miss Trill, who was affectionately called ‘Bird Seed’ or ‘Budgie Seed’ was an older lady about forty (well that’s what she seemed to be to me).  She had very dark hair and I was a little afraid of her.  I learned a few years later that she had married, which was a great surprise to me.  I must have had some presumptions about who is marriageable, for it to have been such a surprise.  I’m quite embarrassed to have had those thoughts all these years later; why shouldn’t she have the chance to be happy?  In that class, I remember a humanities system that we used. I can’t remember the name of it, but it was color coded.  As you got through the levels in each color, you moved onto another color, with a greater degree of difficulty.  You had to read the text on the card and then answer questions on it.  It was nice to get onto the levels that were a little more challenging, but I also remember getting stuck and not having a resource to go to.  Miss Trill was a little bit fierce.  I remember once that we were being taught how to address envelopes.  She taught us that it had to be the following format:

      Mr. and Mrs. intials surname
      number and name of street/
     Town
     County
    Postcode

We were tasked to address the envelope to our parents.  I checked my work two or three times before I stood in the queue to show Miss Trill.  I was pretty shocked and humiliated for her to tell me that it was wrong.  Mystified I returned to my desk.  I read it and reread it; I couldn’t see where it was wrong.  I knew I had to go and show her again and this time try and ask her how it was wrong.  Shaking, I stood in line;  she was very quick to tell me that it was still wrong.  I disliked the sharpness in her voice, but I had to ask;  I knew that she would be annoyed.  I plucked up the courage and asked her what was wrong with it.  Sharply she looked at me and said ‘You have put ‘Mr’ twice;’ I was stunned; why hadn’t I seen that I had done that?  I walked back to my desk very cross with myself, very embarrassed and humiliated.  Let’s just say that Miss Trill’s voice was loud and sharp.  How could I have missed that?  Once back at my desk, I looked at the envelope again;  I got ready to correct it, But I looked at it and looked at it; I could not see that I had written ‘Mr.’ twice.  Then the light bulb went on!  My dad’s initials are M.R.  That’s why it looked like I had written ‘Mr’ twice.  So now I have to line up again and let this scary teacher know that it is correct!  I know I was shaking in my shoes .....

The fourth year also brought more recognition of being part of a team.  In Fareham Park Junior School, every class in each year were divided into teams, which were named after the patron saints of Britain:  St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland - colour blue; St. David, the patron saint of Wales - colour yellow; St. George, the patron saint of England - colour red; and St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland - colour green.  Each of these patron saints have a day during the year when they are remembered.  If you were in the Brownies or the Cubs, you could wear your uniform to school on those days.  I was always in St. David’s house during my years of school.  Some students were put in different houses during their sojourn there, but I was always in St. Davids and St. David is who I supported.  We worked in teams getting house points for work that we had done.  During my years, St. Davids and St. George were always the top two houses for points and were always in competition with each other each week.  Even in sports we were in our teams.  I kind of let my team down in PE as my arms and legs didn’t seem to coordinate, unless I was in the swimming pool.  We played a lot of rounders.  I remember sports day.  I also played netball.

The other wonderful thing that I liked to do in junior school was country dancing.  We used to do it in class and then we had some extra time to do it at lunchtime; after everyone had their school dinner. Now school dinners, that’s another thing.  I got chosen to help serve the school dinners; I loved it when I was putting the jam or sugar on someone’s rice pudding, but felt awful when I had to serve out the mince.  The mince at school was terrible. I don’t know how they could cook it so badly; it made me retch; it was even worse than the warm milk!  I helped serve schools dinners during my fourth year; during that time, the school kitchens were renovated and they had to bring in an outside caterer.  Their food was totally amazing and I often would go up for seconds.  Because I served school dinners, I also got to have one free.  This meant a change from the sandwiches that I used to bring in - or worse yet, the cold toast and jam.  I don’t know why my mum would think that cold toast with jam on it would be tasty.  I have always liked hot toast and still do.  Love my food hot not tepid! Or in the case of toast, cold .....

Anyway, back to country dancing; I loved to do the Victoria Reel and the other dances.  Because I was tall for my age and there were a lack of boys, I often had to be the boy in these dances, but I loved to dance them; there was something satisfying about dancing with a group of people, in a systematic way.

The final thing I thought I would mention about junior school was that we took the eleven plus.  For those of you not familiar with this, there was an intelligence test that was given in the fourth year of junior school.  From the results of this test, students were then filtered into three types of schools. If you did well in the test, you went to a grammar school when you left junior school.  If you didn’t do well, depending on other aspects of the score, you either went to technical or secondary school for the next five years.  I did read somewhere, that there was another test given earlier in junior school, so this combined score contributed to the decision of where, your post junior education would be.  The tripartite education system had been existence since the mid 1940’s.  I do remember sitting in the school hall taking this examination.  

Now I could get on my hobby horse about this, but I will leave that for another time.  Suffice it to say, that I would have gone to the grammar school if they hadn’t built the new Fareham Park Comprehensive.  I’m actually glad that I attended this school and this type of education, as it suited my learning style and my personality better.  We were the first year through this school, being built around us as we went.  This was really good for science, as teachers could dissect the rats they caught on the building site (so glad they didn’t ask us to do that)!  We were quite fascinated with the pregnant rat.  We also got to see a pair of cow’s lungs; and thank goodness for clarinet lessons - as I missed them cracking open the fertilized eggs and seeing the headless chick running around.  I felt so sad for the chicks that died and the cut up rats.

We had sky blue PE skirts, tracksuits, white collar tops for PE and black leotards for gymnastics and dance.  We used one of the larger classrooms for PE; by the third year we had the gym, the running track and the dance/drama studio.

Have to say that my time at Fareham Park Comprehensive School was pretty boring!  Most of the time, I read the book that I had brought in, as teachers struggled to make my class quiet enough to teach.  I was in class K through out my five years there; my friend was in P. 

The first couple of years there were fine, but by the third year, I was getting bullied.  Girls from my class would wait for me and try and push me down the stairs and hit me with wooden spoons in cooking.  My mum came up to the school and had a word with my tutor.  She told them that I would only take it for so long and then probably lose my temper and someone would get hurt; she didn’t want me to get into trouble for that.  I’m thankful for my mum’s confidence in me, but I wouldn’t have actually lost my temper; I wouldn’t have really known what to do in those kind of situations.  I knew that  I didn’t want to go to school and that I was frightened and had no control over the situation.  I was so glad to move on from that school and go to college; academically it was more satisfying and I felt safer.  Ironically, the girls that bullied me were the first ones to come to me for help when we were doing our ‘O’ levels and CSE’s.  

Sadly, the bullying has appeared in its multiple forms again and again in my life.  Even this last year, it has reared its ugly head in the workplace.  I know that wherever I go, it will happen again, so this time I am not going to run away from it and am endeavouring to change my behaviour in response; again, another clear choice.  Hopefully, it will have excellent benefits as did my choice to be friends with the girl in my third year at junior school.

#Fareham Park Junior School#

I am currently writing a book about my school days, living in Fareham. In 1976 I started at Fareham Park Infants School in Tewkesbury Avenue, Hill Park. I was a pupil for two years assigned to Mrs Brooks class.  I then moved up to Fareham Park Junior School, just a hop skip and a jump away from my first institution.

Sadly my two old schools are no longer there, well not in the same guise, so getting information on the period 1976 - 1982 is proving a bit of a challenge. I have been in contact with the new academies, who have promised to do help dig out old records and photographs from the time.

As part of this book, I would like to ask pupils and teachers who were in attendance at Fareham Park Infants and Juniors during the six years I was there, for their help. I am looking for anyone who has old photographs and doesn't mind donating them, for the inclusion in this new publication. Of course I don't mean physically handing the photo's over, but scanning them into a PC and sending me a digital copy. Also I would like to ask ex pupils and friends, if they have any stories and recollections they would like to share. I want to include personal memories from you, the readers, throughout the book and will of course be delighted to include a reference to you, or not, depending on your wishes.

As a writer I think it is important to document every aspect of my attainment; I write about many different subjects but find real life the most rewarding. With your help I feel sure this book will get the recognition it deserves.

If you want to take part in this 'school project,' please send your digital copies and comments to:

You can also fill in your details, leaving a comment in the box below and I will endeavour to get back to you as soon as possible.

Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read this blog entry today, I know how busy you all are. In my blog 'Spanish Views,' there is a section entitled 'Short Stories From My Youth.' I am currently showcasing various aspects of my life, growing in in the 1970s and 80s; my own personal account of the time. Please take a look; it may give you some ideas for your own anecdotes, jog your memory or just take you back to an altogether innocent time. Whatever you do, please keep reading 'Spanish Views,' you make the blog the success it is today!