An Ode To Wakefield, The City I Grew Up In…

Tags

Childhood, England, games, growing up, Humour, Life, Nostalgia, Wakefield, West Yorkshire

Wake up early on Saturday morning.

Up before the rest of the house.

Dash downstairs to get a bowl of Cornflakes and settle in for the morning cartoons.

Get dressed, grab my stuff and leave the house, hopping on a 102 (I’m a Lupset lad, born and bred) to Wakey.

Get off in the bus station and nip into the bogs, passing by the bus drivers puffing away on fags outside their staff room. I use a cubicle – the graffiti on the walls mean it’s always an education in there – and I make a mental note to ring Sandra, she sounds like a nice girl, although I can’t believe she’ll do all that for ten bob.

I head down to the clock tower and take a seat underneath it, on the cold concrete, sheepishly eyeing up a couple of girls leaning on the railings next to the phone boxes. It’s not long before my mates roll up and we head down to the indoor market to have a gander.

We push through the doors – it takes two of us to open them – and go straight upstairs to browse the computer games stall. We’re not buying ‘owt, we just like looking.

One of the lads wants something new to listen to, so we stop off at the record stand and he buys it.

Then we make our way to Sun Lane, paying our fee and heading inside where we spend a happy hour-and-a-half splashing around and sheepishly eyeing up some girls.

We dry off and get dressed and leave and head straight for Chucky Chicken, pumping ten pence after ten pence into Final Fight, Robocop, Aliens, WWF Wrestlefest and many, many more.

We’re hungry now, so we go to McDonald’s just across the way. We get in line and queue. And queue. And queue. It’s always so busy in here, so many people. We get our food, but it’s standing room only so we head outside and eat on a bench, sheepishly eyeing up some girls while we do, and marvelling at how many people there are. Wakey is always rammed on a Saturday.

We stick our wrappers in the bin and head up the precinct, then we duck down the side of Boots and head inside The Ridings. We ride the glass elevator up and down, up and down, up and down, till the short stocky security guard with the moustache – the one that looks a bit like Super Mario, but with a redder face – starts eyeballing us, and we leave.

To the ABC cinema now, to finish off our afternoon. The smell of fresh popcorn hits us as we enter and pay. We take a seat and the sounds of Pearl and Dean greet us:

‘P-pah, p-pah, p-pah, p-pah, pa-pa-PAH!’

Then we disappear into another world for an hour-and-a-half or so.

The film finishes and we emerge, blinking into the daylight, and we each go our separate ways. I grab another 102 home.

I get off the bus, spotting a few local lads I head over and join them. We play hide ‘n seek and tigs as the sun goes down, only stopping when our mums yell out that ‘tea’s ready!’ at the top of their lungs.

We all say our goodbyes and head inside, the end of another lovely Saturday.

I miss Wakefield.

I miss the Wakefield of my youth.

 

 

Popo Cops…

Tags

Cereal, Childhood, children, French, funny, growing up, Humor, kids, Speech

This really is a blog post about something and nothing. More of a gentle, mental nudge for me to remember something when I’m older.

But it’s one of those things that I don’t want to forget as I find it very, very sweet and endearing.

My daughter and I have gotten a little bit hooked on Kellogg’s Coco Pops. It happened quite by accident. We were out of our usual cereal for a while and, as the kids and I eat the same one, I decided to try an old favourite that was more readily available here in France: the aforementioned Coco Pops.

However my daughter being the gourmand that she is, she immediately wanted to try them (she’ll try absolutely anything that one).

She loved them of course.

However as she is now pretty much French she seems to struggle with the name, instead of referring to them correctly, she instead calls them ‘Popo Cops’. I love this. Her mum tried correcting her but I asked her not to as I find it so cute. A little bit of a throwback to years gone by, when they were toddlers and were trying to wrap their tongues around new words and strange, cute distortions would come out instead.

I would try her on Golden Grahams next and see what she referred to them as. Except she’s already tried them.

She refers to them as ‘cardboard‘.

I’ve seen some scary stuff in my time…

Tags

children, fun, funny, growing up, Humor, musings, teeth

 

I’ve seen hours and hours of horror films.

 

I’ve seen limbs lopped off, heads caved in, blood coming out of every orifice.

 

I’ve watched Hellraiser 1, 2, 3 and – for my sins – 4.

 

I’ve watched Freddy Krueger stalk his victims in their dreams.

 

I’ve watched Leatherface chase down his prey with his trademark-chainsaw.

 

I’ve seen ghostface chat up and then cut up babysitters, jocks and even head-teachers in his seemingly endless spree.

 

I’ve watched no end of Japanese horrors.

 

I’ve lost count of the amount of long-haired girls that have crawled out of wells, TV sets, showers and even, creepiest of all, the back of one victim’s head.

 

I’ve Let The Right One In, I’ve been unable to reverse Irreversible, I’ve gone to Calvaire, I’ve seen what it is to be a martyr in Martyrs, I’ve had a front seat view in REC, I’ve gotten lost in the woods in The Blair Witch Project (the original, I might add)….the list is seemingly endless.

 

And yet not one of these has disturbed me as much as the brushing of my son’s teeth today.

 

He’s just lost his first tooth, bottom centre.

 

Man, that gap gives me the creeps…..

Interesting Conversations With My Son…

Tags

children, funny, growing up, Humor, kids, musings, Parenting

 

 

 

I enter the kids’ play room to see my (recently turned) six-year-old son with his underpants and trousers around his ankles:

 

Me: ‘What are you doing?’

 

 

My Son: ‘I’m just checking my willy because it’s longer now because I’m six now and it will be getting bigger so I’m just checking that it’s bigger’

 

 

Me: ‘……….oh alright then but could you put it away now, and next time can you check that after your sister has finished her breakfast?….and when she’s not sat right next to you….?’

 

 

 

We are driving around the local city admiring the Christmas lights up in local houses, we head further afield and see some really crazy displays. The kids love it and we end up near where I used to live many years ago, I tell the kids this as we pull up outside my old home. As we head off my son starts talking about my history of habitation:

 

My Son: ‘Did you live there before you lived with me and Mamou?’

 

 

Me: ‘Eh?’

 

 

My Son: ‘Before you lived with me and Mamou did you live there?’

 

 

Me: ‘I lived with Mamou son, then you came along and then your sister’.

 

 

My Son: ‘No, no, I lived with Mamou, then you came to live with us, and then my sister came to live with us’

 

 

Me: ‘I’m not going to argue with you son, but there’s a pretty glaring flaw in your logic there buddy…..’

 

 

We are sat at home, next to the twinkling Christmas tree, there’s a nativity scene depicting Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus next to the fireplace. We are planning a move to France soon and, obviously putting these two elements together, my son comes out with this beauty:

 

 

My Son: ‘Will we pay taxes in France?’

 

 

Mamou: ‘What?’

 

 

My Son: ‘Will we pay taxes in France?’

 

 

Mamou: ‘Of course we will, why do you ask?’

 

 

My Son: ‘Well it’s just that Mary and Joseph had to pay taxes so I just wanted to know if we will have to pay taxes too’

 

 

 

Yes, only six years old and yet already aware of one of life’s harshest realities: taxes are one of the only two certainties in this life. The longer I can keep him ignorant of the other one, the better I’ll like it.