Robin Alexander Gregory's Blog, page 9

How to be Topp – A new author speaks out

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How to be Topp – A new author speaks out

A good friend of mine recently suggested that as a new author I should probably write a few book themed blogs, in addition to the myriad of offbeat ramblings that have been my blogging bread and butter to date. Not a bad idea at all, on reflection. After all, it is one thing to be known and loved as a humourist, but not all that helpful if your ultimate aim is to gain recognition as a writer of high quality and entirely absorbing fiction, as is mine. So, without further ado, here it is, my first blog about books… well, one book in particular.

‘How to be Topp’ by Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle is one of my all-time favourite books. It has pride of place on the middle shelf of my bookcase and has travelled with me as a prized possession more than halfway around the world and back again. First published in 1954, it provides a wonderful glimpse into the past, specifically post-war, middle-class England, through the jaded eyes of prep-school inmate, Nigel Molesworth. I don’t recall who gave it to me or when, but ever since I turned the first page as a child, I have loved the visions that it conjures up of British education in a time long since past.

Although the book is now over sixty years old, having spent a grand total of three days at an English boarding school in the 1990’s (more about that in a future blog) I can say with hand on heart, that much of it still rings true, for me at least. From those at the top (or should that be topp?) of the tree, i.e. Grabber, the handsome and rugged, yet completely gormless football captain, to the wily survivors in the middle of the pack, such as Molesworth and Peason, and not forgetting the fops at the bottom, e.g. Fotherington-tomas, this book has it all.

What I particularly love is the way that ‘How to be Topp’ is presented as a prep-school survival guide. As such, its chapters aren’t linear, but cover a range of random topics and musings, including: ‘How to Succeed as a New Bug’, ‘How to be Topp in Latin’, ‘Criket’ and of course, ‘All there is to kno about Space’. And while some of the material is no longer of relevance to today’s modern curriculum, e.g. Latin, the book nonetheless retains a wonderful naivety, made all the more charming by the awful phonetic spelling of its protagonist and hero, the aforementioned N. Molesworth.

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Teacher recruitement 1950’s style!

For me, some of the ideas that Molesworth presents, via the timeless visualisations of cartoonist, Ronald Searle, are pure genius, such as Gabbitas and Thring (see above), two Victorian undertaker-like characters whose sole aim in life is to ensnare unsuspecting young men and take them away to become masters (teachers). Part of me suspects that this might still be the case in some British schools even now. Then there is the dialogue, which even in my middle years can still bring a smile to my lips. For example, in the section ‘How not to succeed’, the following exchange occurs between Grabber, the head boy and a new boarder (bug):

Grabber: You have a face like a flea and could not lift a cucumber.

New bug (with a yawn): You also have a face like a flea and could not lift what the French call a concombre.

Grabber: Do you know who you are talking to?

New bug: Can it be Stalin?

I think that it is fair to say that this book has, in many ways, influenced my own writing style over the years, more subconsciously than deliberately and I suspect from the image below that I might be in good company. You be the judge!

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Great minds think alike? A mention of ‘Hogwarts’ in the 1963 edition of ‘How to be Topp’.

I have recently found out that ‘How to be Topp’ was actually one of a series of books published between 1953 and 1958, and for renowned cartoonist, Ronald Searle, was apparently something of a reaction to his popular St Trinian’s series, about a boarding school for wayward girls. If you’re interested in following that one up, then my suggestion would be to start with the original film adaptations starring George Cole as Flash Harry and Alastair Sim as the headmistress.

Fancy an engaging and amusing romp through fantasy-land? If so, then check out my new book, ‘Drynwideon, The Sword of Destiny – Yeah, Right’. Available now from Amazon, Smashwords and all leading ebook retailers.

The post How to be Topp – A new author speaks out appeared first on Rob Gregory | Author.

A peek down memory lane

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A peek down memory lane
… old photos of Reading University…

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a blog called ‘A walk in the dark’. The cover image for the blog was a scan of a photograph that I’d taken while I was studying at Reading University, back in the mid-1990’s, on my old Kodak Ektra slimline camera. No built-in flash, no manual focus and certainly no telephoto function, this was ‘point and press’ photography at its most basic. And yet ever since I stumbled upon that image, sitting in a forgotten envelope at the bottom of a box file in my study, I can’t help but feel that it is truly beautiful.

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A lone student walks past the Palmer Building at Reading University c.1995

Maybe I’m being nostalgic, but I love the graininess of the image, which makes it look more like a painting than a photograph. These days, we live in a ‘High-Def’ world and are bombarded by crystal clear images everywhere we look. Seeing this makes me realise not only how far we have come, but what we may have lost in the process. It is often said about movies that what you don’t see is better than what you do see and I think that the same is true here. We’re now so conditioned to look for the detail in images we see that sometimes we forget to look at the picture as a whole. Certainly, you can’t see individual blades of grass in any of these photos, the 110 films just didn’t have the resolution, but nonetheless, you certainly get the impression of grass, that is for sure.

Then, there’s the colour rendition. Maybe the images have matured and softened with age, but I absolutely adore the contrast between the moody, grey Reading sky and the orange AMS tower peeking up cheekily from behind the chocolate brown brick of the Palmer building in the foreground. Similarly, the lone student who happened to be walking along the path when I took the photo (and I have no idea who it is, before you ask), contrasts beautifully with the rest of the image, his blue T-shirt subconsciously drawing the eye off the mid-line of the photo, then up the vertical, concrete pillar of the Palmer building and ultimately into the cloudy, summer sky above.

Now, I know as well as you do that it’s only an old photo, a single moment in time, as indeed all photographs are. But I hope that you will agree with me, that for whatever reason, it is a beautiful image in its own right, which deserves to see the light of day again, after having been hidden away in darkness for so many years.

Below is a selection of other images of Reading University, circa 1995, taken using the same Kodak 110 camera. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I do.

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AMS Tower at Reading University c.1995

 

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AMS Tower (left) and Palmer Building (right) at Reading University c.1995

 

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View of the Palmer Building, Reading University c.1995

 

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Rear of the Plant Sciences building at Reading University c.1995

 

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View of the botanical garden at Reading University c.1995

 

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Top ten facts about Wales

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Top ten facts about Wales
… Truly amazing things you never knew about the land of dragons…

I’ve recently come back from the UK, where I spent some time promoting my new book, Drynwideon. While I was there, I happened to find myself in the beautiful country of Wales. During my stay, I decided to do a bit of digging into this wild and largely untamed, magical land. What I discovered was truly fantastic and I feel privileged to be able to share it with you here. So, sit back, grab yourself a coffee and a biscuit, and prepare to be amazed by these hitherto unknown top ten facts about Wales:

All of the world’s coal comes from Wales. Other countries have long been stealing it by mining underneath the UK. The Channel Tunnel was originally one such mine shaft, built by the French.
Smaug the dragon from ‘The Hobbit’ lives in Merthyr Tydfil. You can easily tell which house he lives in because it’s got the biggest chimney in the street.
The two Severn bridges are actually there to help hold Wales in place, otherwise it would completely detach from the rest of the UK, as happened with Ireland nearly 30 years ago. More bridges are planned in the future as the two countries continue to pull away from each other along the enormous River Severn fault.
Most Welsh cheese is, in fact, made by highly trained canaries made redundant following the closure of Wales’ world-famous sugar mines in the mid-1980’s. Some of the canary families can trace their heritage back as far as the battle of Dan Y’ Fab San in 1232.
A’i fab in Welsh does not mean ‘and son’ as is commonly thought. In fact, it means ‘I’m bloody brilliant, boyo’.

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A’i Fab, indeed. Welsh butchery at its finest!

It is traditional for most working-class families in Wales to give up at least one son, usually the youngest, to one of the many travelling Male Voice Choirs that prowl the valleys, in exchange for beads, coal dust and old Harry Secombe albums.
The little bit of Wales right at the northernmost tip is called Dayvd.
Brains SA, one of the strongest beers on the planet at 420% alcohol, is bottled at source by a small group of Franciscan monks, who have been living in hiding in Ysbyty Ystwyth since the early 1500’s. Brains SA is commonly used as a condiment to season many of Wales’ delicious national dishes.
Despite its relatively small appearance on world maps, Wales is, in fact, more than twice the size of the continent of Australia.
Wales is famous for its sheep, many of which are over 11 feet tall and eat cats.

And finally, a quote from my father to my mother, which if it hasn’t been said before, needs to go down in the annals of comic genius:

“You’ve given me loads of sound advice over the years. 99 percent sound and 1 percent advice!”

You’ve just go to love the Welsh… I know that I do!

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Great life experiences – Part 1

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Great life experiences – Part 1
… An essential resource for understanding where you are in life…

Ever wondered how well you are doing in the great race of life? Running on empty or full to the brim with the glory of your own existence. Well, worry no longer! Below is part one of the only guide you’ll ever need to work out exactly just how great, good or downright rotten your own particular life experience is. So, don’t delay… try it today!

 

Great life experiences
Good life experiences
Bad life experiences


Helping a Playboy bunny across the road
Helping an old lady across the road
Being helped across the road by an old lady.


Finding a twenty pound note on the ground
Finding a twenty pound note you thought you’d lost in your pocket
Finding that someone has emptied your bank account and has been throwing twenty pound notes around the town


Having your arch-enemy committed to a mental asylum
Having someone you don’t like committed to a mental asylum
Being committed to a mental asylum (especially if by your worst enemy)


Being the pigeon
Not being crapped on by the pigeon
Being Nelson’s Column


Owning a racehorse
Having a share in a racehorse
Eating racehorse without knowing it


Doing something truly philanthropic
Supporting a charity with regular donations
Finding out that your donations have been supporting the local branch of the Hitler Youth


Partying hard with no hangover the following day
Partying hard with only a bit of a sore head the next day
Partying hard and waking up to find your friends have left you in a bath full of Special Brew


Being truly loved by at least one person (not your mum)
Having a lot of friends (including your mum)
Being famous on Facebook because of that picture of you with diarrhea when you were a kid


Being physically present at the birth of your first child
Being able to watch the birth of your first child from outside the delivery room
Being given your first child by the midwife and finding out that it’s the wrong colour


Seeing your favourite band playing live just before they were famous
Seeing your favourite band playing live just after they were famous
Seeing your favourite band playing live in the local pub as a Karaoke duo


Living in mansion in a tropical paradise
Living in a big house in a tropical paradise
Living under a coconut


Playing rugby for your country
Playing rugby for your local team
Being used as the rugby ball

 

So, how did you score?

Mostly great… You lucky so and so. Whatever you are doing it certainly looks like it’s working and you’re probably having a pretty good time doing it.

Mostly good… Okay, so you’re not up there with the cream of the crop, but look at it this way, you’re probably doing a heck of a lot better than most of the other inmates of planet earth.

Mostly bad… Wow! What did you do in your previous life to deserve this? You must have been exquisitely horrible to a lot of people, that’s for sure. Every day must be just one long slow slide down the razor blade of life with no pants on. Still, at least it can’t get any worse, right?

 

So, that’s it, now you know where you stand (or fall) with respect to the metaphorical ‘Joneses’. But never fear! Keep your eyes peeled for part two of this guide sometime in the near future and maybe you can improve you score!

For more complete and utter madness like this, why not sign up to receive my regular blogs here?

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A summer’s day in Oxford

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A summer’s day in Oxford
… or a punt around the harbour…

For those of you who have been loyally following my blog, you could well be forgiven for coming to the conclusion that I am something of a booze-hound. After all, quite a few of my posts have either directly involved alcohol in one form or another, or been set within the confines of a bar or a pub. So, just to reassure you that there is more to yours truly than a half-empty beer glass and borderline writer’s block, I give you this heart-warming recollection of a good deed done during my time at Oxford University, a tale involving myself, a punt and two elderly Americans.

Summer in Oxford is a glorious thing, spoiled only by the amount of traffic and the huge influx of tourists, all gawking and snapping away at the ancient, stone-built colleges that line the city’s main thoroughfares. Fortunately, I was at one of the newer colleges on the outskirts of the city, so largely avoided the predations of the coachloads of new travellers arriving each day. Consequently, in my mind, it is a place full of sunshine, endless blue skies, fluffy white clouds and of course, punts.

Punts, for those that do not know, are a special type of long, flat-bottomed boat, with square ends, designed to be extremely unstable and difficult to control. Rather than the usual rudder and wheel approach, punts use a long stick, called a ‘punt pole’ to both propel and steer the vessel. It takes a bit of time to master, especially if you come from the ‘other’ place (Cambridge) and persist in standing at the wrong end, but once you have done so, there is no feeling like it.

Getting back to the story at hand, for one reason or another, I found myself with the afternoon off one summer’s day and decided to spend it relaxing by the college harbour, soaking up as much sunlight as my pale skin would take. Just as I was making myself comfortable, I was approached by Barry, one of the college porters, who asked me if I would do him a favour. Not wanting to disappoint him, because he was always very good to me, I agreed without hesitation and followed him to the porter’s lodge, where I met the aforementioned elderly Americans.

It turned out that one of them, the husband if I remember correctly, had been a member of the college many years before and was visiting for the first time since he had graduated, with his wife in tow. Apparently, one of their greatest wishes during their visit to dear old ‘Blighty’ was to go punting, however, neither of them was able to manage a punt anymore and no one else, apart from myself, was around at that time.

Of course, I agreed. I mean, who wouldn’t want to go punting down the Cherwell river on a beautiful summer’s day? Slowly, we made our way to the harbour to find only a single punt remaining. Unfortunately, it was the one that no one ever wanted to use, because it had a split running down the side of it (thankfully above the waterline), which made it even more difficult to control than usual. Undeterred, I gently ushered the American couple into the punt and let them get comfortable on their cushioned seats. Then I unmoored the vessel and pushed off into the harbour, doing my best to cancel out the alarmingly wobbling punt, using my body as a counterweight. It took a little while, but eventually, we made it safely out of the harbour and into the river proper, all ready to take a leisurely cruise along the waterway. However, no sooner had we left, than the lovely American couple, who were, I stress, thoroughly enjoying themselves, announced that they wanted to return to the college because they had another appointment to go to!

I was dumbfounded. We had hardly set off and already they wanted to go back. Was it me? Was it the punt? Were they getting seasick or feared that I would capsize them? I really didn’t know. I tried several times to talk them into going further, but they insisted that all they had really wanted to do was to sit in a punt and be taken around the harbour, and that they were on a very tight schedule and had shortly to leave.

Well, there was nothing that I could do short of abducting them, so I made my way back into the harbour and moored up once again, helping the aged couple out of the punt and back onto dry land. The whole trip had taken less than twenty minutes when I was more than happy for it to have taken two or three hours. Still, as I mentioned before, the Americans were extremely pleased with their experience and thanked me profusely for giving up my time to help them. It was no problem for me. I loved punting and still do, so you can imagine my surprise when they insisted on paying me for my trouble (and I mean insisted, as only Americans can). The ex-college member practically forced a ten-pound note into my reluctant hand before patting me on the back and thanking both myself and Barry once more for our help, as he and his wife left the college.

I never saw them again and I do sincerely hope that they enjoyed their brief punt ride. As for the ten pounds, well, that just happened to be the exact price of a college ‘bar-book’ (tokens for the student pub), so you can guess where that money went!

Stay tuned for more Oxford tales by signing up to my blog, or if you’d prefer more occasional communications, plus free short stories, then sign up for my newsletter here.

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Reality shows not ‘real’ enough

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Reality shows not ‘real’ enough…
… says UK TV Watchdog in damning new report…

With the new season of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ just around the corner, TV bosses were today stunned by a damning report into the state of British reality TV shows, from ‘Oncom’, the unofficial UK regulator.

According to the report, the current crop of offerings are: ‘mediocre at best and completely lacking in the entertainment value expected from today’s highly sophisticated televisual viewer’.

TV chiefs from around the country were quick to respond to the report, pointing out a range of new programmes that are currently either being planned or already in production and which, are specifically designed to cater for those increasingly insatiable viewers who require an even greater level of grim realism than has previously been the case.

Consequently, in the coming months, we can expect to see the launch of ‘My Dad Can Beat Your Dad’, which involves fathers being faced off against each other in gladiatorial style fights to the death, much to the delight and dismay of their respective children. Also, due for release this autumn is ‘The Biggest Boozer’, a show which pits pubs bores from around the country in a series of live drinking competitions, at the end of which, they get to show off their respective skills, which are thought to include bad karaoke singing, serial leching, pickled egg eating and projectile vomiting.

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‘TV is dead’ – Oncom spokesperson.

Fans can also expect to see ‘Service Station Survival’ on our screens before the end of the year. The show is based around the concept of locking a group of university students into a motorway service station and seeing who lasts the longest before dying of fast food poisoning. Sources report that service stations on the M1, M4 and M6 are among the front-runners for the set’s location. For those who prefer a little more glitz to their reality shows, then ‘I Live In A Layby’ is the one for you. Join a band of D-list celebrities as they are forced to spend ten weeks living on a layby in North Yorkshire, eating nothing but scraps thrown from passing cars and the leftovers from Doris’ kebab van, which parks up there twice a week.

The release of the Oncom report happily coincides with an announcement from the UK Government, which states that it too is planning to jump on the bandwagon, albeit with game shows, rather than reality series. Consequently, keep an eye out for ‘Who Wants To Be A UK Citizen’, to be hosted by Chas Tarrant and an all-new ‘Blankety Blank’. The new show, hosted by Inland Revenue officials, will see wealthy tax dodgers being forced to sign blank cheques, with a studio audience deciding which out of a number of competing charities will receive them. Of course, under strict new government guidelines, the charities will have to prove that they have not been poking kids in third world countries in order be to eligible to receive any of the prizes.

Finally, parliamentary debates are set to take on a whole new look with ‘The Vice’ coming to TV in the late summer. Apparently, the government has been overwhelmed with MPs wishing to participate in the show, which involves them placing their genitals into a large vice, which is progressively tightened by the Speaker of the House, depending on how outrageously they lie during Parliamentary Question Time.

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TV on junk or junk on TV – You decide.

And in breaking news, the Church of England, not wishing to be left out of the action, has announced its plans for a new show, provisionally called ‘Christ Almighty’. The show will see congregations up and down the country battling for the title of ‘Most Holy’ by taking part in a series of ‘It’s A Knock-Out’ style games, including ‘Lifting the Lead from the Roof’, ‘Bouncy Castle Crucifixion and ‘Speed Baby Baptism’. Hosts have yet to be confirmed, but Grayman Norton and Ardal O’Hanalonlonlon, both previously of ‘Father Todd’ fame are believed to be in the running.

 

All in all, it would seem that the Oncom report is inaccurate, to say the least, and we have a fantastic range of new reality and game shows to look forward to in the coming months, so stay tuned right here for more updates as and when they happen.

Enjoyed this post? Why not have a look at my other blogs, or check out my range of books?

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Tommo the cat

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Tommo the cat
… taking your life in your hands with an ancient, but loveable feline…

Some years ago, during my time in Wellington, I had the great pleasure to lodge with a good friend of mine, way up in the Brooklyn hills overlooking the capital of New Zealand. His house, which stood perched on the very edge of the hill, afforded spectacular views of the harbour and surrounding countryside. It also came complete with a menagerie of elderly animals, including two cats and Daisy the dog (more about her in a future post, no doubt).

The two cats were called Basil and Tommo. Basil was the epitome of refinement, spending his days sitting quietly in the living room, grooming himself just in case anyone important should visit and want to take his picture. Tommo, on the other hand, was the street’s tough guy. In his prime, no other cat could beat him and he ruled the tarmac from one end of the road to the other without mercy. Unfortunately for Tommo, by the time I met him, his mighty reign was over and he had been forced to retire to the safety of the house, where he proudly prowled the hallways or slept in the sunshine dreaming of long past victories.

Now, I’m sure that you’ll agree with me that Tommo certainly wouldn’t have won any prizes for ‘best in show’, but there was something loveable about his worn and scarred appearance that completely won me over. At the time, I wasn’t really a ‘cat person’, but in Tommo’s case, I made an exception. I had to because for some reason he’d taken a liking to me and had decided that my bed was also his bed. Don’t get me wrong, I tried to gently shoo him off the bed and out of the bedroom many, many times, but without success. For one thing, he was still a pretty big cat and I was a big softie (and still am). And he wasn’t averse to using his claws when he got upset. So, in the end, after having been scratched and mauled beyond all recognition, I decided to just put up and shut up, and get on with it.

From then on, whenever I retired for the night, I would be greeted by a happily purring Tommo, as he jumped up onto the bed and settled himself on the duvet by my side. No problem there, you might say and you’d be right. The real problem started when I turned out the lights. I’m not sure whether Tommo was scared of the dark (probably not) or just a bit odd, but as soon as darkness descended on the room, he would get up from the duvet, trot casually over to the pillow and lie down right next to my head. It didn’t matter which way I turned, Tommo would turn with me so that I got the full force of his cat breath and purring in my face for most of the night. I say most of the night because, during the winter months in particular, when the temperature dropped sharply, Tommo would clamber underneath the duvet in the middle of the night for more warmth.

It was on one such occasion, a Sunday night (I remember the incident that vividly) that Tommo made his way beneath the covers and stretched out beside me to take advantage of the nice, snug space that I’d been warming up. I didn’t realise it at the time, but elderly cats can apparently have trouble retracting their claws, especially their rear claws and Tommo, being reasonably ancient, was thus afflicted.

My scream at having the side of my body raked by his claws, while he was dreaming about some previous conquest or other, woke the entire household and caused me to rise about three feet off the bed from a lying position. I don’t think that I have ever felt pain quite like that before and hope I never will again. I remember looking down at my exposed side and seeing two little rows of red lines opening up where Tommo had innocently clawed me in his sleep. Of Tommo there was no sight, the wily cat having fled at the utterly inhuman noise I had made. All I could do was reassure my friend and his family that I had not been the victim of an attempted murder and try to stop the bleeding with a strategically placed handkerchief (a clean one, of course) around my abused and tattered midriff.

Fortunately, Tommo and I quickly forgave each other and within a couple of days, normal service was resumed; a state of affairs which happily continued until I moved into a flat of my own a couple of months later. Sadly, however, Tommo passed away a little while ago, old age finally catching up with him. But every time I rub my side or get a stitch from trying to do too much, I am reminded of Tommo and smile at the thought that inadvertently and completely by accident, I was probably his last ever victim.

Rest in Peace, Tommo. You will not be forgotten.

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A walk in the dark at Reading Uni

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A walk in the dark
… tales from Reading Uni, part one…

As those of you who have spent any time on my website (www.rob-gregory.com) will doubtless already know, I spent some time back in the early nineties at Reading University, where I studied Biological Sciences. Such was my level of devotion to the subject that I was often to be found in the Student Union bar, conducting elaborate experiments on the effects of alcohol on the major bodily organs, using myself as a guinea pig (no animal testing here, I can assure you)! And because I was trying my hardest to be a respectable and professional biologist, these experiments had to be performed both concurrently and consecutively, in other words at the same time and one after another. This might sound impossible on the face of it, but can, in fact, be achieved by cleverly mixing your drinks and lining up several rounds in one go.

Anyway, one evening in the bar, myself and a small group of friends were sharing the heavy workload of diligent scientific enquiry, by each quaffing as many pints of larger, bitter and anything else vaguely liquid that came our way as we could. At the end of the evening, the bell for last orders rang out and the bouncers dutifully waded in, helping everyone present make their way into the night, predominantly by means of snatching away any half-empty glasses and shoving us out into the cold. Needless to say, with more than a few halves of ale inside us, we were in good spirits and began to head back towards our Hall of Residence, laughing, singing and joking as we went.

I don’t know who suggested it, but at some point on the journey back, a wager was proposed that I couldn’t walk home with my eyes closed. Always one to rise to a friendly challenge, I accepted the bet, confident that I could indeed navigate successfully without the aid of vision. How wrong I was!

Not many people walk around with their eyes closed, no matter what we might think about our politicians and others in positions of power. Even fewer try to do it at night, when visual acuity is even more heavily limited. So, I may have actually found myself in a rare minority of one, had I realised it at the time when I tried to walk home both sightless and ‘half-cut’ as we say in the UK.

Needless to say, my friends found it highly amusing to watch me wobble off down the path from the Student Union, narrowly avoiding the myriad of trees and bicycles that now seemed to litter my route. It was only when I stumbled and bounced off a thorn bush that they came to my aid, still giggling in the way that only drunken students can. Still, undeterred and with the promise of several more beers as my reward, I set off again, only this time I ended up wandering unsteadily down the main driveway of the University campus, eyes still firmly clamped shut. No problem, I thought, I’ve walked down this road a dozen or more times and nothing ever comes down here at this time of night.

Suddenly, there was a frightened scream from one of my friends, the sound of a car horn, an angry shout and an unexpected gust of air, as a car sped past. Thankfully, in my unsteady and somewhat inebriated state, I fell into the gutter, rather than the road and picked myself up to see two red tail-lights disappearing into the night.

You might be pleased to know that I walked the rest of the way back to the Hall of Residence that night with my eyes wide open and heart thumping with fright, all thoughts of my alcoholic reward completely forgotten. Since then I have grown older and I hope, a little wiser, and have never repeated that particular feat again. Periodically, however, I do find myself reflecting on the incident and how, but for the fact that everyone leans to one side or the other when they walk with their eyes closed (try it if you don’t believe me), I could so very easily have ended up under the wheels of that car, rather than being here today to tell you about it.

A sobering thought indeed…

The post A walk in the dark at Reading Uni appeared first on Rob Gregory | Author.

A walk in the dark

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A walk in the dark
… tales of the university, part one…

As those of you who have spent any time on my website (www.rob-gregory.com) will doubtless already know, I spent some time back in the early nineties at Reading University, where I studied Biological Sciences. Such was my level of devotion to the subject that I was often to be found in the Student Union bar, conducting elaborate experiments on the effects of alcohol on the major bodily organs, using myself as a guinea pig (no animal testing here, I can assure you)! And because I was trying my hardest to be a respectable and professional biologist, these experiments had to be performed both concurrently and consecutively, in other words at the same time and one after another. This might sound impossible on the face of it, but can, in fact, be achieved by cleverly mixing your drinks and lining up several rounds in one go.

Anyway, one evening in the bar, myself and a small group of friends were sharing the heavy workload of diligent scientific enquiry, by each quaffing as many pints of larger, bitter and anything else vaguely liquid that came our way as we could. At the end of the evening, the bell for last orders rang out and the bouncers dutifully waded in, helping everyone present make their way into the night, predominantly by means of snatching away any half-empty glasses and shoving us out into the cold. Needless to say, with more than a few halves of ale inside us, we were in good spirits and began to head back towards our Hall of Residence, laughing, singing and joking as we went.

I don’t know who suggested it, but at some point on the journey back, a wager was proposed that I couldn’t walk home with my eyes closed. Always one to rise to a friendly challenge, I accepted the bet, confident that I could indeed navigate successfully without the aid of vision. How wrong I was!

Not many people walk around with their eyes closed, no matter what we might think about our politicians and others in positions of power. Even fewer try to do it at night, when visual acuity is even more heavily limited. So, I may have actually found myself in a rare minority of one, had I realised it at the time when I tried to walk home both sightless and ‘half-cut’ as we say in the UK.

Needless to say, my friends found it highly amusing to watch me wobble off down the path from the Student Union, narrowly avoiding the myriad of trees and bicycles that now seemed to litter my route. It was only when I stumbled and bounced off a thorn bush that they came to my aid, still giggling in the way that only drunken students can. Still, undeterred and with the promise of several more beers as my reward, I set off again, only this time I ended up wandering unsteadily down the main driveway of the University campus, eyes still firmly clamped shut. No problem, I thought, I’ve walked down this road a dozen or more times and nothing ever comes down here at this time of night.

Suddenly, there was a frightened scream from one of my friends, the sound of a car horn, an angry shout and an unexpected gust of air, as a car sped past. Thankfully, in my unsteady and somewhat inebriated state, I fell into the gutter, rather than the road and picked myself up to see two red tail-lights disappearing into the night.

You might be pleased to know that I walked the rest of the way back to the Hall of Residence that night with my eyes wide open and heart thumping with fright, all thoughts of my alcoholic reward completely forgotten. Since then I have grown older and I hope, a little wiser, and have never repeated that particular feat again. Periodically, however, I do find myself reflecting on the incident and how, but for the fact that everyone leans to one side or the other when they walk with their eyes closed (try it if you don’t believe me), I could so very easily have ended up under the wheels of that car, rather than being here today to tell you about it.

A sobering thought indeed…

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Drynwideon – The unofficial launch party

Drynwideon – The unofficial launch party
… a night to remember…

Thanks to my wonderful literary agent, Brian McMullan, we had an unofficial launch party for Drynwideon back in early March at Jethro’s Lounge in Chiang Mai. Some of the less incriminating photos of the event have recently surfaced, so I’m finally able to share them with you here. Hopefully, the more incriminating ones will never see the light of day!

Many thanks to everyone who came and supported the event, especially fellow author Antonin Cee, author of ‘Native Herb’, an excellent collection of short stories about Thailand. We had lots of very enthusiastic feedback, as well as more than a few people who were very pleasantly surprised when they were presented with a complimentary copy of the book. Also, thanks to Chris and Malai for their wonderful hospitality as always.

In other news, feedback on the book has so far been extremely positive and while we’ve not set the world on fire (yet) things are starting to build nicely, with distribution of the paperback version looking increasingly likely across several normally hard to reach Asian countries in the coming weeks.

If you haven’t done so already, please check out the free sample chapters on my website (www.rob-gregory.com) and better still, tell your friends and buy the book!

Happy reading!

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