i was digging through some discs for old files, and found two pictures from a decade ago. i could find neither sense nor reason in not posting them here, not that i particularly looked for either factor, really.
first up is a picture of your humble narrator, taking his first steps inside the Riverside, home of Middlesbrough.
this must mean that the picture was taken in 1997, and was snapped by Uncle Trevor. Middlesbrough, being the warm and friendly home that i remember, were having none of me flying seven thousand miles to see this new ground; there were no official tours or anything scheduled, so i was not allowed to look around. happily some builders were in, so i could sneak in and look upon my new field of dreams.
it is seldom and rare that i like to see images of me, but this one i really like, even though it stems from my pre-beard days. i had no idea it was being taken, which helps, and it features my long gone beloved coat. it had served me well on several journeys, escapades and adventures, that coat had.
next is an image from 1998, from Rohan Smith's wedding. Jill be the name of the bride. there are more pictures somewhere, but this is the only one that was on the disc.
from the left, we have Jai, Jason Malcolm, your humble narrator, Biff (it was only at the wedding, after knowing him for several years, that i learnt of his real name - which i am not going to reveal here), Michael Llewellyn, Saggie and the groom himself, Rohan Smith.
of the lot of them, i am only in contact with the infamous Mr Llewellyn these days. this is something of a shame, but i guess we all move our own ways eventually.
the wedding was in picturesque Felixstowe and my, the stories i could tell you of that weekend. if you take many pints of fine bitter as the foundation of the stories, they involve the Orwell Hotel, the night porters of the Orwell Hotel, a nightclub which housed women of questionable morales yet with outstanding features (two in particular), confusing a taxi with the mother of the bride, a party from Wales, the traditional Welsh whiskey of the party from Wales, a concerned chambermaid, many headache tablets and being propped up in a shower, the dazed and confused experience of being presented with a Church magazine with Arnie as The Terminator on the cover, being voted as a participant in one of the best fights ever at Nunthorpe School (not that there's much clever about that, and from that day onwards myself and the other participant, David Teasdale, became respected friends of sorts),and finally Michael Llewellyn offering to do all sorts of unspeakable things to one of the groom's brothers, Matthew Smith, if he did not down 5 tots of vodka.
it is rather tempting to go into further details of the above, but i dare say, as and when i find a cure for being lazy about it, they shall all feature in a book or something i may very well write. all that and i didn't even include the best line from the weekend; "we don't do chip butties. but, what i can do for you is butter a roll and put some chips in it for you.".
there are, as i think i said, certainly more pictures from the wedding, although none of the actual wedding (ref chambermaid/headache tablets / shower propping combination and Church magazine incident) and mostly featuring all and sundry making certain hand gestures. why my camera should be the one that all choose to make gestures towards is beyond me, if i ever dig out the pictures of the last day at Nunthorpe School, well, all one would see is a finger festival, really.
i am not at all sure who would have an interest in this, but if you were "there", so to speak, or this all in some way amused you, nice one!!!
be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!