When I was at junior school, I used to sit next to a girl called Suzanne.
Believe it or not, at school, they used to put two of us on washing up duty in the teachers staff room.
Suzanne was always the one I ended up on duty with and she was a decidedly hard worker. Whatever she is doing now, I imagine she still is.
She made sure we both stayed out of trouble with the teachers and considerably more sensible than I was.
We used to walk past the cigar/cigarette laden ashtrays and do the washing up. I remember teachers back in the 1980’s often having bad breath that wreaked of coffee and tobacco. Being in the teachers staff room felt almost like a forbidden place to us as kids.
“Ooh, it’s where the teachers hang out and talk about boring adult stuff”, I thought to myself.
I distinctly remember how pungent the washing up liquid was and wondered why we needed so much of it just to wash a few cups and dishes. I drank a cup of tea with washing up liquid still in it once, so it was the enemy as far as I was concerned.
Back then I was in my own little dream-world half the time. Usually I’d be inventing games to play at lunchtimes and after that I’d be thinking about getting home and going out with my mates in the road. School was just something we did until we could enjoy the rest of the day. I remember Suzanne telling me she played the clarinet, which seemed very advanced.
I saw her play it once, so she wasn’t kidding.
I never used to think about whether someone liked me or not, so it was no different when it came to girls. If I had to describe myself back then, it would be ‘oblivious to many things’. There was a time, if someone wrote their telephone number down on a napkin in bright red lipstick and handed it to me, I’d think they were just being friendly.
Anyway, Suzanne must have decided she liked washing up with me and declared herself my girlfriend. I don’t think I had a choice in this matter, she sort of just decided it for me on my behalf. When you’re 8 or 9 years old that’s just a word really isn’t it.
One day she gave me a plastic Octopus accompanied with a hand-written letter.
When I got home I read this letter. It explained how I must use this Octopus to ensure it could climb down windows.
Suzanne was very organised, it has to be said.
I was impressed by this Octopus thing, which did sort of climb down windows after it had been dunked in soapy solution.
Having a girlfriend at the age of 8 had its perks after all.
Nobody outside my family had ever given me anything before, so that was very sweet of her.
No doubt other boyfriends of Suzanne, back in those days, also got an Octopus that climbed down windows.
I wonder if she used to get her dad to buy a job lot of them?
For all I know, he sold them in a market stall or something.
“Give these to your new boyfriends, I’ve got a ton of ’em I can’t shift in the markets.”
“Okay, dad.”
The thought still counts though, doesn’t it. When I went into hospital to have my appendix removed, I was still sitting next to Suzanne at school. The hospital staff tried to distract me by asking me questions, one of which was whether I had a girlfriend.
“Not really “, I replied, feeling somewhat embarrassed in front of ‘adults’ interrogating me.
My mum told them I sit next to a girl at school, implying I did.
“What’s her name?”, they asked.
“Suzanne”, I reluctantly responded.
“And she’s your girlfriend?”
“No”, I robustly replied.
This was followed by them asking me all sorts of questions about Suzanne in front of my mum, which made me very self conscious, so I avoided all of them until they talked about normal things like operations and what I watch on telly.
While I was in hospital everyone in my class made a get well soon card and sent it to me. It was the most extraordinary and brilliant thing. I even thought so back then, when I received them from my classmates.
Some people in my class misunderstood what sort of operation I was having and drew pictures of me with my arms or legs in a cast. A girl called Helen even wrote me a poem telling me to eat my pudding with a spoon. I am so anti-authority I resented being told what to do by Helen, but now look back on this poem quite fondly.
When I returned to school, I was popular by way of intrigue. Everyone wanted to see my scar and ask how I was.
When we left junior school, I lost touch with a lot of them, including Suzanne. She went to a different secondary school and the only time I saw her again was when I was out delivering papers one day in a different area. She smiled and shouted “Hi Dean”, from the other side of the road.
Friendly as always. They were a good bunch, back then, and so was Suzanne.
I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s not every day you can say someone once generously gave you a magical soapy octopus that climbed down windows.
Thanks for reading. I’ll see you in the next one.
I have to play this out with something because it’s sort of a tradition on this blog.
But I don’t know what to put that is Octopus related so I’m going for random instead.
Summer Girls by LFO…