Too Cool For School

I was put into a children’s home at 3 months old and spent most of my primary school years being shunted from one school to another: Plat Douet, Halkett Place, Le Squez and finally Grouville.

I was either shunned or teased mercilessly by pupils. You see, primary school can be a brutal place if you don’t fit in. Children at that age have no concept of tact. Being reminded endlessly that I was unwanted, hated or naughty did little for my confidence. With no parents to guide my personal development, I was totally lacking in social skills and my attempts to interact with other children were clumsy and bullish.

I was often excluded from playgroups and in virtually every class, was sat by myself away from other kids or put right in front of the teacher’s desk so they could ‘keep an eye on me’. Despite this, I did manage to make a few friends, albeit they tolerated me more so than actually liked my company.

I’ve long wanted to catch up with my old friends but, as always, life gets in the way. So, when a school reunion was planned, I jumped at the chance to see my old friends with whom Id shared memorable times, even though it meant a round trip of 16 hours by car and ferry.

The night itself was one of the most eagerly anticipated nights of this year. As I approached the venue, a frisson of excitement enveloped me. As I walked through the door, there in front of me were dozens of familiar faces, all a little older, most instantly recognisable, some not so. To walk through the door and be greeted with a resounding “Steve Goodchild!” was magical. Moving around the room, I hugged and greeted old friends.

For some of those, it was a chance to put right past misdemeanours, for others, a chance to rekindle close friendships. Sadly also, it was an opportunity to remember those that had passed away. Its heart-breaking to remember those people as children, no longer with us.

I had a wonderful evening. My only regret was that, in an island so small, where no-one lives more than 6 miles from town, so few made the effort to turn up. But for those that did, it was a fantastic night. We talked about past adventures, shared memories and unrequited love. I spoke to one friend who, previously unknown to me, is now stepfather to the daugher of my much loved and missed cousin Timmy who passed away two years ago. To another, we whiled away the evening reminiscing on past adventures down Gorey with a close friend Tom. To one girl I spoke of how much I have loved her secretly from afar for years unbeknownst to her.

The room reverberated with similar stories and the audible hum of excitement buzzed between us.

All too soon the evening was over and, for me, it was especially poignant, because I was returning to the UK and the chance to stay in touch was slipping away. Talk moved towards the next reunion and even the chance to meet up for a Christmas knees up.

I for one sincerely hope this happens – for me....less time outside smoking and more time indoors reminiscing - a proper reunion.

My good friend Andy Godfray

Kathryn and my very special friend Tara

Michelle, Kathryn and Tara

Slums of England - part 1: Claridges

We have stayed in some sheds during our travels but Claridges ranks upon one of the worst narrowly edging out 'a street doorway' for top spot.


Dont get me wrong, there is no getting past the fact that Claridges certainly has some pedigree. The impressive frontage oozes sophistication and inside. The elegant blend of original art deco and subtle touches of Edwardian and French décor seamlessly blends modernism with turn of the century charm.

There was definitely an air of nostalgia wafting past our noses as we swept up the impressive staircase to our room and a quick scan through the neatly laid out upon the green leather and mahogany office desk revealed a not so surprising list of celebrity visitors.

Famous guests include Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Alfred Hitchcock and more recently, Mick Jagger and Brad Pitt.

Personally, it would be worth the visit if the only visitor of note was the wonderfully seductive Audrey Hepburn. Like the star herself, the hotel has a wonderfully seductive charm.

Carrot Cock (Rude veg!)

I haven’t blogged for a while and make no excuses for that: those in the know will understand that wifey and I have had a very difficult few months: we know we are in your thoughts and continue to thank you dearly.

To brighter topics, we have both been keeping as busy as possible and many of you will doubtless know we have been hard at work in the garden. We put up one of those plastic greenhouses to add to our square footage, bought some more troughs for our salads and, in a nod to a bygone era, decided to pressgang the front lawn into an “on your doorstep” allotment.

Strange.... I hear some of you cry and yes I suppose when I was welly deep in horse-turds and mud mid February I would have agreed with you. Not so now though....oh those of you of little foresight and fortitude! My vegetable plots this year have been an unrivalled success. We are still taking beans, lettuce and courgettes from the back garden and the greenhouse is festooned with plump peppers tomatoes and red hot chillies. As for the front, we pulled and stored enough garlic and onions to last us through until Christmas.

We have just bagged our fourth huge bag of spuds and there are still 3 rows left to pull. Our brussels sprouts and cabbages are looking resplendent and we are having to give our carrots away. What’s more, the neighbours and (bless them) the children are genuinely interested in what’s going on in our own little corner of “the good life”.

My next steps are to make sure we have plenty to keep us though the winter and to that end brassicas and Kale are planted out and lettuce is still going strong in the shed.

My next major ambition is to persuade wifey to let me get some meat and egg chickens. Yes there is a difference, egg chickens being the sort that cost you a fortune to feed and take to the vet and in return they give you a couple of eggs a week if you are lucky or salmonella and bird flu if you are unlucky. Meat chickens, in a display of true altruism, give you themselves: from fluffy Easter postcard candidate to Sunday roast in three months.

 Maybe getting carried away with the fervour of it all? Definitely. I do still think though, that I am still the same old Goosh everyone has come to love though. When talking of my gardening achievements this Summer harvest time, with a cornucopia of subject matter I could have selected to discuss, the only topic currently on my lips, greeted always with a precursory snigger of childish delight, is “carrot-cock”.