Teacher's were respected. As was the bloke who went up onto the froof when school closed, and kicked the football's off.
Got your ball the following morning that no one had nicked.
Top start to the day.
Being able to buy a few loosies (cigarettes) without having to prove your age.
Having a one on one fight without having to use a knife or a weapon, generally.
Not getting collared by speed cameras.
Not having your drive home hindered by speed bumps, some of which are designed to destroy your vehicle.
Wearing all kinds of gear without getting ribbed to death for it, generally...except for a few exceptions.
Playing all kinds of games, from hide and seek, tiggy off ground, Leo and what not and being as fit as a butchers dog whilst enjoying it all.
Going up the tarzies.
Dropping your pencil at school so you could look under the teachers desk and try and get a good glimpse. I had many a little tug over that and to think Mr Smith never suspected me looking up the leg of his shorts.
Those were the days. I think.
When you were allowed on the field.
I also remember when sweets were sweets. A proper treat that tasted superb, unlike a lot of the stuff today that tastes bland, not to mention half the size.
I used to think it was because I had small hands as a kid and that's why the mars bars must have looked way bigger....but no.
The old go-karts made with planks of wood and old pram wheels.
Riggy up bikes that you took your time building up and painting whilst wrapping the handlebars with eleccy tape of various colours.
Building snow camps when snow seemed to come at the times we expected.
Camping out and going round houses changing the milk dials from 2 pints to 6 or leaving notes asking for eggs and bread and what not then waiting for the milkman to deliver, then take them from the step so we could have a few egg sarnies back at the tent with the single camping stove with the gas cannister that you had to puncture a hole in the top of.
Fun times but times when parents gave a falook and if you were caught you were in for a double going over, or a triple one if the big brother found out...but worth it.
It's hard to find a milkman on a round, let alone an early one.
Also a Sunday was a day of rest where shops being open was scarce.
Sunday nights with a jar of malt and a big spoon on top of the old telly, plus the smaller spoon next to the cod liver oil in liquid form before we went to bed.
I don't know whether it was for the benefit of our health or just a parting Sunday shot by my mother to say, 'you tested me out over the week and weekend and now it's your turn to take the revenge I've served, before knowing that your next waking time is a screaming morning school day Monday morning.'
Hmmmm.
Last edited by ghostrider; 18-09-2018 at 04:51 PM.