Revisionism

April, 2006 :

I'd like to confess to having all these stories that never really happened to me, like I was some sort of Walter Mitty, a Billy Liar whose life was basically a fabrication, a sham, a great big hoax and you're all a bunch of silly ones for actually believing in it from the start.

Me too.

I'ts a progress through life I suppose, there are a bunch of half truth stories that have been embelished over the years, the downright lies that have become folklore in my mind, and then the set of stories that I could never have dreamed up that actually happened.

The stories that set fire to the ship and actually sank it.

I titled the blog the "Fool on the Hill" because in my early teenage years there was so much foolishness that I have to identify with the man up on the mound and nowadays certainly do not identify with the boy I was thirty-odd years ago.

Funnily enough, I've talked to a friend or two and the concensus is that we were all rather silly.

Right of passage.

It would be so easy, just build a time machine and go back and change one thing. Well, maybe two, but of course, if you change the one thing then the second probably wouldn't have happened anyhoo.

Catch double-deuce.

So, I'll take the plunge, I'll pay my fee and travel back to a November night in 1974 and change just one of my real true stories.

I'd taken the train down to Liverpool and was in a nightclub called the "Babaloo" or something similar. I was quite tuned in and dancing with this pretty blond haired girl, well, she looked pretty good in the darkness of the night club with my beer goggles on, ego tells me she was a looker.

I'd been grinding my knee into her groinal area for a slow dance or two for half an hour (I've since been informed that girls don't really like this pastime) and then she told me that she had to go for a "wee" and would I mind her drink.

Well, there was about an ounce of a rum and coke in there, so I knew she'd be back for that valuable item, so, I bid her goodbye as she went off to the toilets.

It's probably what those wives felt like during the war when their men went off. I waited for at least half an hour before I started thinking something was up and then, well, even then I felt that she must have been kidnapped or taken by aliens.

You know, If they hadn't closed the club that night I probably would still be standing there.

So, I'll go back, walk up to me and tell meself to shake my head. Sort out my life before it happened, do everything right, be nice to people and keep it real. I'd fix it all in one simple moment, there ya go.

The trouble with the concept is that the bouncers at the club, would take one look at me as I am now, and tell me that there was absolutely no way that they could let an old bastard like me into the club!

Sorry mate.