October 1, 2012 by kitcac
I got a load of hassle from my sister a few years ago when I realised that forcefields do not actually exist.
Deirdre was convinced for a long time (because of me) that Chepstow was not a real place but had been invented by geography teachers for the purposes of mock exam questions. She realised when she was driving along the motorway and saw a sign for Chepstow. So yes, she was old enough to drive before she realised.
Today, I was singing the ABC song to JWop and wondered to myself “I wonder where does the word Alphabet come from?” Oh em gee, I realised (quite quickly) that it must be from Alpha and Beta. Amazing! I taught myself something!
I also had a Road to Damascus type realisation the other day when I was driving to Ikea.
I was going picking up my chum on the way and the road to her house had been newly tarmacked. Oh it was so beautiful and smoooooooth. I really do like a newly tarmacked road. They make me want to rollerskate.
There is an excellent strip of lovely smooth road at Gidlow Cemetery in Standish which is excellent for roller-skating along. I know because that used to be my patch for the purposes of roller-skating.
My roller-skates were fab-u-lous. They were bright bright pink. They were brighter than the eyes of an albino rabbit.
I remember when I got them, I went to a roller disco with my mum. She wore a mint green jumpsuit and we did a bit of roller-skating to the hits of the 80s, seeing as it was the 80s. How cool is that?!! We still talk fondly about that jumpsuit.
I used to wear a matching pink outfit with my skates, unless all my pink stuff was in the wash. Occasionally, Deirdre and I would wear our Bros Jeans and go roller-skating. Yes, you read that right.
Bros. On Jeans. The faces of Matt, Luke and Craig. On Jeans.
Deirdre would sometimes wear her Bros Jeans whilst pogo-ing. She was the best pogo-stick bouncer in the whole of Chorley. I am serious. If there had been a contest organised by the Chorley Guardian, she would have won it.
She could easily do 600 pogos. She’d get off the pogo stick after a marathon pogo-ing session and wouldn’t be able to walk in a straight line because of the pogo-ing-jelly-legs. Our parents would say “Where’s Deirdre?” and I’d say “She’s pogo-ing. She’s been pogo-ing for hours.”
Man alive, we were cool!
So back to roller-skates. We’d get out our roller-skates and we’d wear some snazzy outfit, perhaps lycra cycling shorts with the pink stripes down the sides to co-ordinate with the roller-skates and we’d head down to the cemetery to have roller-skating races and do some spins and all that shizzle on the nice smooth tarmac. Sometimes Deirdre would take her pogo stick.
It was only when driving to Ikea that I realised that this roller-skating/pogo-ing display between the headstones could have been slightly inappropriate.