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waiting for the whoosh - badgergirl's journal

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  • Originally posted by badgergirl View Post
    I have photos, but they are in the loft in London...hopefully. who knows, the tenants have probably thrown them away. I'm kicking myself about that -we should have packed them, but we were renting to a friend in the beginning and it didn't seem important.
    A blackmailer could hold you to a fortune for they....You can't choose to take everything with you when you emigrate I suppose, not that I'd know, but it'd be a shame if they were lost!

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    • Originally posted by Dhansakdave View Post
      A blackmailer could hold you to a fortune for they....You can't choose to take everything with you when you emigrate I suppose, not that I'd know, but it'd be a shame if they were lost!
      God, no, the iggles crew have far worse photos than those. Far worse. Somewhere there are some pre-legal topless shots. Evidence of White lightning fuelled debauchery in Al's garden chalet. I blame Hobbes. He was the one who took photos of one of the girls in our year getting lucky on the banquette of shame in the local club, blew them up, photocopied them with the caption 'the moose is loose' and pasted them up around the school.

      Thank the sweet badgers there was no internet.
      I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

      Comment


      • Originally posted by badgergirl View Post
        God, no, the iggles crew have far worse photos than those. Far worse. Somewhere there are some pre-legal topless shots. Evidence of White lightning fuelled debauchery in Al's garden chalet. I blame Hobbes. He was the one who took photos of one of the girls in our year getting lucky on the banquette of shame in the local club, blew them up, photocopied them with the caption 'the moose is loose' and pasted them up around the school.

        Thank the sweet badgers there was no internet.
        itsa damn shame..... lol

        Comment


        • Originally posted by badgergirl View Post
          God, no, the iggles crew have far worse photos than those. Far worse. Somewhere there are some pre-legal topless shots. Evidence of White lightning fuelled debauchery in Al's garden chalet. I blame Hobbes. He was the one who took photos of one of the girls in our year getting lucky on the banquette of shame in the local club, blew them up, photocopied them with the caption 'the moose is loose' and pasted them up around the school.

          Thank the sweet badgers there was no internet.
          I'll concede that one! That might just shade Miss Piggy by a bit....

          Originally posted by ssn679doc View Post
          itsa damn shame..... lol
          Lolol, *speechless*....

          Comment


          • That tree names a mouthful, just goggled it, and you're right it's sizeable....Try not to confuse me, I'm male, so it ain't difficult....Know what you mean though, seen it snow over here in June!
            kotukutuku flowers have purple pollen and when the bell birds have been drinking the nectar they fly around with bluey purple beaks. we have had snow on xmas day here before which is nowhere near as fun as xmas on the beach. i guess we could still go but cooking lunch on a fire on the beach in the sun is way more desirable.

            Thank the sweet badgers there was no internet
            yes many a lucky escape i can tell you.

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            • Reading a new book! And, even if it had a big neon arrow above it flashing BADGER'S BOOK, it could not be more up my alley. Oh my goodness, it is fantastic. I felt an adrenaline rush as I read the first page. My mind curled up like a cat in front of a fireplace and said: you will do well here.

              Peter Ackroyd Albion and, here, have a review. I read, and loved, his Biography of London so I knew I was in for a treat, but whoa...

              I keep noodling on the economics of the Isle - the summers from age 11 to 20 when I dutifully donned the black skirt and white top of service and waited or chamber maided for the tourists (we all did: hotels, cafes, guesthouses, gift shops, down the pier and in the arcade). The early morning walks along the cliff path or across the beach as the sun rose - I took to going skinny dipping and watched while the fishermen (hobbyists rather than commercial) brought their boats in. The slavery of dragging the cart - industrial bleach, window cleaner, polish, a selection of rags (always wash the cups in your room yourself before you use them) - from en suite to en suite. The weight of lifting the tenth double mattress of Saturday morning change over (seven hours of cleaning rooms, stripping beds, sorting the laundry and making beds) complete with heavy blankets (the hotels were old school), the precision of nurses' corners (very old school). And then, at the end, the long walk home with the choice of flat along the esplanade, but then the steep and unforgiving slipway; flat along the esplanade and then up the steps of two different rises (one flight too shallow, designed for little legs; followed by one flight too steep, designed to hurt everyone, I suspect); or up by the yacht club on a semi-circular road, then along the cliff path with its crazy swoops (run on the downs and see how far up the ups your momentum will take you).

              Some summers I did that and waitressing, some years it was just waitressing or just chambermaiding. One year I worked on the tills at the supermarket.

              In later years, 18 onwards, we were all of us within a few metres of each other and at the end of the day we'd meet up at the Jolly Sailor (pub with dancefloor, nightclub 'Bogeys' underneath - all gone now). Monday - quiz night and 'Jolly Jugs' of lager. The winning team got a bottle of 'instant hangover' champagne. I cannot remember what was on downstairs at Boges on a Monday - might have been electronica and dance. Every week night was a different theme and once a month there was 80s night (80p a shot, 80p a pint, eighties music all through the night) we were there pretty much every night it was open (it closed on Sundays) drowning our sorrows and pulling tourists.

              I remember it as a time with no boundaries. We were individuals, clearly, but we were also an amorphous clan/hive. There was total acceptance (at least after we left school - life was much happier once Hobbes had come out and stopped tormenting us) and we all - perhaps I'm projecting - viewed each other's and our own disasters as an opportunity for hilarity (oh, god, the half-built hotel; the time Al's tryst with a married co-worker got caught on the security camera). We were wild, but in very safe (or mostly safe) ways.

              We were also very aware, perhaps without cause, of our shelteredness. I went to university thinking that I'd encounter wild debauchery, but nothing came close to the summers on the isle. My uni friends were astonished by my stories of quite normal nights out. And all nights were out from 17 on (I left home and moved in with Jam a couple of months after I met him at, where else, Bogeys). If we had one thing going for us it was that we weren't much for drugs. I dabbled with, as the Greeks call it, 'mavro'. Al may have done acid and mushrooms. Mainly we were drinkers. Habitual heavy drinkers.

              And so my daybreak walks were accompanied by hangovers and the buzz of lack of sleep (usually about three hours) and I'd sleep in the garden or on the beach later in the day. I ran on ethanol.

              Have an appropriate and contemporaneous choon, strange album this one and some of the songs are lyrically basic to the extent of being unintentionally comic - I had it on cassette and never upgraded to CD. Husband recently found an MP3 version for the moogie and I have been reminiscing.
              Last edited by badgergirl; 04-02-2014, 08:44 PM. Reason: typo
              I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

              Comment


              • I love your stories. I swear I can taste the salt in the air!

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                • Originally posted by vh67 View Post
                  I love your stories. I swear I can taste the salt in the air!
                  Thanks! It's a pretty magical place.
                  I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                  Comment


                  • Originally posted by vh67 View Post
                    I love your stories. I swear I can taste the salt in the air!
                    So do I, makes me feel like I've lived under a rock all me life though....

                    Comment


                    • +1 on the stories. It's fun hearing the things that shaped who you are now.
                      "Right is right, even if no one is doing it; wrong is wrong, even if everyone is doing it." - St. Augustine

                      B*tch-lite

                      Who says back fat is a bad thing? Maybe on a hairy guy at the beach, but not on a crab.

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                      • Before we get to Jam (always promising jam tomorrow), I want to at least touch on the other aspects of self. Although there was a lot of drinking and dancing and general craziness there's another side of me, just as evident today, that was also nurtured and grown at high school.

                        These days my high school is a failing sports academy (a hold over from the Island Games - a different kind of special olympics - being held there, perhaps - there's an Olympic standard running track as well as a well-equipped sports centre...oh, and Louis Attrill, the rower, was in the year above me. I last saw him in the Jolly [of course!] wearing a floor-length Matrix-style leather coat...). Anyway, I am not sporty so although there was a lot of sport at school in my day, I ignored it. What I drank deep of - apart from the obvious - was the classical (or as classical as you can get at a state school) education in the humanities. It was by far the most ambitious bog-standard state school I have heard of in that regard.

                        I was in the choir (I have a terrible voice, but luckily it was a broad church), without that I would not have had learned anything about classical music. As it was, we did Carmina Burana (and the choirmaster told us exactly what we were singing), Ceremony of Carols by Britten, Handel's Messiah, a Gilbert and Sullivan every year (which was staged - I loathe G&S to this day, but it does help to know the Major General's Song and all the other ditties that have woven themselves into the fabric of the culture). Together with the orchestra there was also a fantastic swing band - the concerts were actually worth going to. We had an exceptional theatre department too - how many high schools put on the Antigone (in translation, but still)?

                        The religious studies department was really strong. I did it up to GCSE (hence the trip to Israel), but lots of my friends did it at A Level too. The English department was strong. Unfortunately, especially for me as I had no natural aptitude for these subjects and had chosen them out of interest rather than talent, the chemistry and biology departments were not so stellar. That did not stop Drs Monty and Pigeon excelling, but for me those lessons were impenetrable. I love science, but very much in a 'how fascinating, tell me more' kind of a way. My mind simply does not retain the alphabetti spaghetti of equations.

                        There were frequent trips to London to see West End productions and the RSC. I saw Peter Hall's production of Hamlet with all of Stephen Dillane on stage - with school! I took Jam with me, I seem to remember. Trips to see ballets and musicals were frequent too. Why I went to Avebury I cannot recall, but I did.

                        The bluestockings, the librarians and I would talk books and ideas; art and culture. And, of the club kids, Al studied art and architecture (introducing me to Ben Nicholson in the process); Hobbes was an aficionado of pop culture (he went on to write for Smash Hits and now lives and works in Barcelona making art out of gay porn).

                        The school offered not only geography, but also geology at A Level. I did history to GCSE, some of which was local history and I learned from friends (and also my dad) about both the formation of the land and the history of the land - knowledge that I have deepened and contextualised over time.

                        For all that, I left school at 18 and prepared to go to uni feeling woefully sheltered, in-bred and uneducated.

                        ETA: I just remembered writing club. This is where I was introduced to ee cummings and got to sit next to Marek Larwood, who was in the year above and who I had a massive crush on. I Googled him a year or two ago out of curiosity...turns out he did okay for himself

                        This is too apt...which is why, no doubt, the English teacher read it with us...

                        [in Just-]
                        BY E. E. CUMMINGS
                        in Just-
                        spring when the world is mud-
                        luscious the little
                        lame balloonman

                        whistles far and wee

                        and eddieandbill come
                        running from marbles and
                        piracies and it's
                        spring

                        when the world is puddle-wonderful

                        the queer
                        old balloonman whistles
                        far and wee
                        and bettyandisbel come dancing

                        from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

                        it's
                        spring
                        and

                        the

                        goat-footed

                        balloonMan whistles
                        far
                        and
                        wee
                        Last edited by badgergirl; 04-03-2014, 03:22 PM.
                        I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                        Comment


                        • I've been reading your stories for awhile and have so awestricken that I haven't commented - but today I will. Thanks for sharing with us. Always loved that poem!
                          My Primal Journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread53052.html

                          "Freedom from fear" could be said to sum up the whole philosophy of human rights. - Dag Hammarskjold

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                          • Originally posted by Siobhan View Post
                            I've been reading your stories for awhile and have so awestricken that I haven't commented - but today I will. Thanks for sharing with us. Always loved that poem!
                            Aw, love it when people delurk. I'm a prolific (promiscuous, even) lurker myself, so I understand the enjoyment of reading followed by the slack brained 'what do I say to that?' But still, it's nice to know that the words are read...someone hears my barbaric yawp.
                            I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                            Comment


                            • Ah, I've got an hour, a keyboard and I've had a drink. The perfect opportunity to write about Jam.

                              He was so sweet, truly, and we were so young. I met him when I was 17 and trashed, possibly on the dancefloor, though honestly I'm not sure now. I remember talking to him by the emergency exit on the lower level of Boges. He was wearing his 'lucky white drinking shirt' he ironed that shirt so carefully, bless him, he also had an 'unlucky white drinking shirt' and I should have taken that for a sign, but I was too young to know. We kissed and he later told me he assumed I wasn't interested because he couldn't feel my nipples harden - er, boys, this is not a clear sign (at the very least, some bras are padded).

                              He walked me home and we spoke of badgers. Of course we did!

                              He was sleeping in a caravan on his parents' hobby farm (they were in the barn as they had completely demolished the inside of the farm cottage and were rebuilding) and soon I was too. Within two weeks I was professing love. I learned the country lanes between his parents' place and mine like the lines on my palm. I walked them in the dew of early morning as if I was a Hardy heroine.

                              Jam was a lovely boy, 19, joyful, innocent (not in trite terms of bodies, but in all the ways that matter), he had a lot of love to give and I was a girl who needed a lot of loving. Looking back I can see quite clearly that I absorbed him - in both meanings of the word (sucked him dry and bewitched him). I didn't necessarily mean to or know what I was doing, but that first taste of real love is addictive and he never said stop, not until the end.

                              We razzed around the Iggles in his Fiesta, breaking speed limits, breaking laws. Once he was pulled over by the local constabulary for speeding. I was naked on the passenger seat. He would have been going a lot faster, except I...well, I had seen Parenthood and had run with the idea. We watched a lot of p*rn (no idea how sensitive the mods are) as if it was educational. I know different now.

                              I know now he replaced drinking with sex. A straight addiction swap.

                              The chronology has blurred, but I remember clearly staggering through the front door in daylight to find a bobby on the sofa and my parents wringing their hands. The bobby backed out of the discussion as soon as it appeared I wasn't missing and that no crime had been committed. I have sympathy for my parents now, but still. I moved out halfway through my A Levels.


                              I'd done a placement with the council (after complaining about slave labour and a lack of science at the tomato farm - the sloppy seconds rubber gloves were the point where my gorge rose and I rebelled), working on their composting project for my biology A Level and had a lovely week with the dishy environmental health officers, eating banana doughnuts from Mapes (a bakery I had previously worked at as a waitress) and lunches at the Crown in Shorwell (locally pronounced shorel). Imagine my shame when I opened the door to same officer doing an inspection of our flat.

                              We really punished that bed.

                              We got engaged and I really meant it.

                              I'm giving you the fast forward version. That year was intense.

                              Is it any wonder I did less well than predicted in my exams?

                              I compounded my error by dragging Jam north while I went to uni.

                              I love Lancaster and that will be another post for another day. Jam did less well. I blossomed; he withered. I could write about the motocross bikes that were stolen from our back yard (and it was a yard) and various other indignities...or I can try to evoke it in an impressionistic sense. The way I feel now, in Australia - cut off at the knees and removed from my native soil - Jam felt in Lancaster. He could not find work and, owing to the joys of the council tax system, he cost me money to keep.

                              He was profoundly dyslexic, but started studying for an A level in biology. Why? Neither of us knew.

                              We dried up. I did not have the emotional maturity to see it through his eyes and, though we tried to work on it, we failed. He cried for three days and refused to get out of bed. We limped on. He told me he'd decided to move to Spain (no, I had no idea either) for a year. He was 'food phobic' - to the extent that I had taken him to therapy - and only ate an extremely limited range (tuna sandwiches with ketchup and spring onions on white; cadbury's chocolate; Burger King; strawberry nesquick) of foods. I pointed this out to him, but he was resolved.

                              He was back on the Isle before I was and was sleeping with my lookilikey in the year above. Sloppy seconds indeed. Later he took to drugs in a big way.

                              I still miss him.



                              There's more, of course there is... but that's a story for another day.
                              http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gnMaUU-UCGY
                              Last edited by badgergirl; 04-03-2014, 11:22 PM.
                              I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                              Comment


                              • I take it the drugs took there toll on Jam?

                                Originally posted by badgergirl View Post
                                I'm a prolific (promiscuous, even) lurker myself
                                Me to!

                                I was the other way round than your good self educationally wise, always done just enough to stop me old man giving me a clip round the ear, as my interests were of a sporting nature or finding different ways to get detention....

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