Time To Go Old School

A week or two ago now I was invited back to my old school in Blackpool to speak at the tenth anniversary Gala Event of theatre company in yer space, the group that grew out of stuff we did at school. For about seven years of my life, I did play after play non-stop with the group and Colin Snell, bald master-director largely responsible for my current unemployment (incidentally, if you're Colin reading this having just googled yourself again, hello!). Nice to go back and see the old place if a bit weird.

Being back reminded me of the many differences between London and 'Up North'. I got into Blackpool an hour or so early for the Friday night performance of 'Disco Pigs' that the group was putting on in the Grand Theatre Studio. With nothing to do for an hour, I thought 'S'alright, I'll just go and sit in Starbucks (a recent innovation to Blackpool) and write me speech for tomorrow night.' Ah, what a metropolitan I have become, expecting Starbucks to be open after 5.30 pee em. One point to London.

The only place I could find open was Woolworths caff in which there was not another single soul. But this is where the North scores over London. Within two minutes of selecting a coffee and a scone (rhymes with gone, or you're automatically a gobshite), I knew that the lady on the till was about to close up, not that you'll mind pet, only I've only taken a tenner since five o'clock and with the staff I've got to keep on it doesn't really make it worth it, you know? And my request to swap my apricot jam for a raspberry lead to, gasp!, not a sullen look of reluctant acquiescence but a short conversation about how nobody likes the apricot ones, I don't know why they keep making them, I've a whole box of them under here that I won't get rid of, probly end up just chuckin them, which seems like a shame.

Bless you Woolies lady, for not being (as in London) either:
a) fucking miserable and resentful of my lack of despair or,
b) labouring under the delusion that trotting out the company line in an overly cheerful eastern european accent will cause me to have a nice bloody day. And I know the cocking sugar is on the side behind me, Pret-omaton.

Anyway, 'Disco Pigs' was great, and I got the speech written (usual trick: bad stand-up), and trotted it out for the do the next night, which was interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, time absolutely has flown. Was it really so long ago that a naive and 'nice' young man left school that now no pupils remain that remember him. Weird, but I'm glad to say I've changed much in the intervening 7 years, and certainly no one could call me naive or 'nice' anymore.

Probably because of this, I saw a few of my old teachers as human beings for the first time ever, as unsure of themselves and socially awkward as the best of us. This is a slightly odd revelation to have at the best of times, but to then stand up in front of them and talk about something you feel strongly about kind of puts the cherry on top as a bit of an epiphany. At some point, without noticing it, I've grown up. Weird.