I Was A Child Once. Were You?

Boring threads in the main forum. Boring threads here. What's a guy supposed to do, except lie back with a bottle of red, a can of something not quite deadly hazardous to the brain cells (but only 0.1% below it), and a crafty cigarette out of the window . . . cos you gotta make some concessions to the little lady, right.

Anyway, whilst waiting for a worthwhile thread to "pop-up", in order to deliver an astute, well thought out riposte (or discover a gif/jpeg worthy of a thousand "thanks"), in drink, one's mind turns inexplicably to reminisces of childhood.

Now, let me tell you something. My childhood was a mish-mash of conflicting, confusing, cerebral bemusement. Granny number one saw off three husbands by out-drinking, out-smoking, out-gambling, and out-living them. Granny number two was so pious her garters had to wait till the church bells pealed on a Sunday before they were taken off.

Both grandmothers regularly announced to the world and his dog that (their spouses), "He's a terrible man. Drinks, gambles, and never keeps his word". But strangely, at the respective funerals of my granddads, both could be heard remarking, "Oh, he was a lovely man. A lovely, lovely man. Do anything for anyone. I shall miss him".

I recall misbehaving as a child, and my mother saying, "You'll laugh on the other side of your face when your father gets home", or even, "I'll wipe that smile off your face in a minute". Oddly enough, I never grew up with a one-sided smile.

They talk about children being corrupted these days with modern technology such as smart-phones, internet, etc. Seriously! As a child I saw Tarzan almost naked, Batman running about in tights, Cinderella stayed out till after midnight, Pinocchio told lies, Alladin was a thief, Snow White lived in a house with seven Men, Popeye smoked a pipe, Pac Man ran around eating pills to enhance his performance, and Shaggy and Scooby were mystery solving hippies. Added to that, every Friday and Saturday night I watched a grown man wrestle thirty minutes plus to get a pair of pants and shoes off (my dad of course). Entertainment, you ain't lived.

Watching the first colour TV through the neighbours window. Being hauled home by the ear by the local policeman for scrumping apples. Using my mothers tights as a makeshift fishing net. Being walloped by my dad for having a bikini-clad picture in my pocket from Parade magazine. Sticking chewing gum on the lock of my teachers satchel and getting detention. Innocent. But what memories.

Ooh, I'd love to keep going, as I'm just getting into my stride now, but the main forum has a new thread asking how to make $5 a week. That's an easy one; pick the change up from the floor that's fallen out of your old man's pants on a Friday or Saturday evening. C ya later.