On Thursday, 23rd August 1990, I got my revenge on a neighbourhood bully, in a fashion. This man who lived down the street was a bastard with children, between the ages of about 8-9 to 14. This man put barbed wire on his fence, told me off for calling for them, once told my mum I had jumped on his flowers when I was at a school Disco. The woman next door told him it was her son and his friend. On Sunday, 6th July 1986 he walked up to our house just to complain to my Dad that I had climbed up a tree at the bottom of the street. My Dad told him, I won't repeat what he said, as it is unprintable, to go away (I am being polite there).
Due to this guys efforts, he managed to get a "No ball games" sign erected at the bottom of the street in the Summer of 1990. That particularly day, I asked the elder of the two lads next door to join me in playing "Football". Predictably enough, he came out and roared, "Oi, what are you doing? Can't you read?". I wanted him to do this. I replied, "Of course I can read". He shouted, "Well, what does that bloody say then?". I said "No ball games. Where does it say anything about playing football with balloons?". He stared angrily at me, but went into the house in a huff, because there was nothing he could have done about it!
My aunt and uncle moved into a new house in September 1990. On Sunday 9th, September 1990, myself and my parents were there helping them with the garden, which was vastly overgrown. My uncle's step-dad, who died on Friday 3rd November 2006 at the age of 84, was about to cut the lawn. I volunteered to do it, telling him that "You shouldn't be doing this at 67 years of age". He replied "68!". He had his 68th birthday the month before, and more to the point, he still used the lawnmower! I lost that argument!
From September 1990 to September 1991, I took part in football matches at Athersley South school field. They consisted of my form versus other forms in the year, if I remember rightly. They were held on Monday night's up to March 1991, then Thurday evenings in April 1991, then moved to a Wednesday the following month. Anyway, one evening, Monday 24th, September 1990, we were sat around having some form of a team-talk. I can't remember what happened exactly, but I was making a serious point about something, and all the team laughed, so I got up, told them all to "F**k off" if they weren't going to listen to what I had to say, and stormed off in a huff, which made them laugh even more.
On Wednesday, 3rd October 1990 in Business Studies, Mr Coy, the Teacher, (Who passed away of Lung Cancer on Sunday, 15th December 2013, at the age of 57, asked us all what we would do if we had £1,000 pounds to spend. I was sat on my own at the front of the class. In response, I said I would spend £1,000 on a car or either decorate my house and go on holiday. The class roared with laughter for a few minutes. How was I supposed to know? I wasn't old enough to drive back in October 1990. The Teacher said I would need a Flintstones car for that price. Boom Boom. I said I would invest the second £1,000, which didn't draw any laughter. That's what everyone else said after me. They were sheep then. That night when I got home, I got into further trouble because an Uncle who was coming home from work told my dad he had seen me walking about around 5.30am. My mum was annoyed because I promised her the early morning walkabouts would end.
On Friday, 12th October 1990 we were playing soccer at my secondary school in games and this person in my class was through on goal by himself, about to score and I tripped him up. He was a fat lad then (If he has got any bigger now he will be ready to bust!). A penalty was awarded. When the person I tripped was on the floor I whispered to him "Happy birthday", even though it wasn't his birthday!
I remember being laughed at for using what was deemed "Pretentious language" by somebody two weeks later, though those terms weren't actually used. I called a football player "Inspirational". The people I was talking laughed and said I was using big words just for the sake of it, to sound clever. I don't think "Inspirational" comes into that category.
I was at a soccer match, on Saturday, 22nd September 1990, when Brian Clough had signed a contract to be manager of Nottingham Forest, for a further three years, This deal ensured Cloughie would at Forest until the age of 58 (when incidentally he retired). My dad was discussing it with another fan. I intervened, saying, "You don't know. He might not live to be 58". My dad told me to shut up.
I was being logical. You don't know what is going to happen in the future. When Brian Clough died of stomach cancer on Monday 20th September, 2004, at the age of 69, I mentioned the conversation to my dad. He answered, "Yes I did say it, because the bloke I was talking to was 56. It was hardly going fill him with confidence was it?!".
Five days later, on Tuesday, 4th December 1990, my dad had an accident. He was walking our pet dog, Benji, on Rotherham Road, when a lorry door suddenly swung open and hit my dad across the shoulder and sent him flying. A blue lorry, responsible, stopped and my dad took their details. They were a firm from Chesterfield and had a faulty catch on. They admitted responsibility and negligence and paid up in an out of court settlement two months later. However, when I got home, I told my dad that Ronnie Corbett was 60 that day!
