I think many readers will sympathise with this little cracker from our Twitter friend Robert Wilkinson (his Dad jokes books make great stocking fillers)
If my memory was any worse, I could plan my own surprise party.
Saturday 26th Butchers Arms 9pm – 11.30pm Horizon (Rock Covers and original) The Lord Kitchener 8.30pm - late Karaoke with Johno East Barnet RB Legion 8.30pm – 11.30pm Red Herring (Rhythm and blues) The Arkley Club 8.30pm – 11pm£5 cash on door Karaoke and Disco The Three Wishes, Edgware Scratch (Rock Covers, 4 piece)
Sunday 27th East Barnet RB Legion 2 – 5pm Dave Collison's Roy Orbison Tribute & Human Jukebox Ye Olde Monken Holt 7pm – 9pm Smokin Whiskers (Acoustic covers) Butchers 8.30 – 11.30pm Butchers Arms Jam Electric/Blues/Rock (Full backline available) Toolans 8.30pm Finbarr Black The Bohemia 7.30pm – 10pm £10 online or at bar Bespoke Pedal Club (Jazz Funk Country Blues)
Monday 28th The Three Wishes, Edgware - Jan's North London Jam Ye Olde Mitre Inn, High Street 8pm – 11pm (stables room) Barnet Acoustics Session
Wednesday 30th Toolans 5-8pm Billy Heneghan Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 11pm Open Mic Night
Thursday 31st Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 10.30pm Irish Session Maddens 9pm Ronnie Gordon Legacy Band
August Friday 1st August Lord Kitchener 8pm - late - Ela (Solo Artist) Butchers Arms 9.30pm – midnight - Lord Algae (Rock covers) 3 piece Barrington 8.30pm – midnight Karaoke with Neil The Haven 8pm – 11pm Dennis Cook – (Musician, vocalist and DJ)
Saturday 2nd Butchers Arms 8.30pm – midnight Groove Rats (Rock/blues) 4 piece East Barnet RB Legion 9pm – 11.30pm Leech (Rock and pop covers) Ye Olde Mitre Inn, 8.30 Mary's Exit (Rock & Pop Covers) Maddens 9pm - 99 Bucks (Blues) Sunday 3rd Ye Olde Monken Holt 7pm – 9pm The Sequels (60s/70s covers) Butchers Arms Jam Electric/Blues/Rock (Full backline available)
Monday 4th Ye Olde Mitre Inn, High Street 8pm – 11pm (stables room)- Barnet Acoustics Session
Wednesday 6th Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 11pm Open Mic Night
Perhaps the aspect of Rock and Roll that is least talked about is the process of songwriting. It is the most important aspect of music. Without songs, Rock and Roll would be a fashion parade. I've been writing songs almost since I was able to speak. When I started, it was very much simply changing the words to the songs of other artists, usually to annoy my sisters, or to amuse my mates at school. My best mate at the time was one Pete Conway. In 1974, when we were twelve, we both rather liked Sparks. Their single 'This town aint big enough for the both of us' was a classic and we loved it. It had gun effects and was very different from everything else in the charts. I don't normally like such songs, but it is an epic song. They then released a follow up, Amatuer Hour. Shall we say, it didn't catch our imagination in the same way. Pete and I discussed the matter and decided that we needed to save Sparks. We wrote a couple of 'decent songs' and sent them to the label, with a letter explaining that they'd gone downhill and needed some proper songs. I wish Pete hadn't thrown the letter we got back in the bin! Lets just say they didn't feel the need to avail themselves of our services.
Four years later, we started to write songs for our own band. The False Dots. We were punks and the songs were highly political. They weren't exactly catchy. Recently, we revived the very first of these. It's called Wrong. It lasts 47 seconds and we brought it back for our 46th Birthday show!
@falsedotsrog Wrong This was the first song The False Dots ever played at our first rehearsal back in 1979. We never played it live until our 46th Birthday party at the @thedublincastle last week! The full story of the evolution of this song is here https://barneteye.blogspot.com/2025/02/rock-and-roll-stories-25-manifesto-for.html #rockandroll #punk #anarchopunk#punkrock1977 #TheFalseDots #Rockandrollhistory♬ original sound - FalseDotsRog
Within a year, we scrapped all of these songs and started again. With a little help from Hank Marvin, we wrote our first classic, Not all she seems, that we re-recorded for last years album.
We made a conscious decision to try and make every aspect of the song interesting. It has a catchy riff, a story, and is a powerful song. It has always been a favourite. At the time, Pete and I would sit in my bedroom with ideas and our instruments and go through it line by line. We really made an effort to ensure that every song had great lyrics, an interesting arrangement and something quirky. The only real issue was that we hadn't really bothered to study song structure or arrangement. I think Not All She Seems and the other songs do stand up, but when we perform them, we have different arrangements now.
When Pete left the band in December 1980, I lost my co-collaborator. We were fiercly critical of each others output. We took great pleasure in destroying each others work, but we were also good at pulling the best bit out of the bones. In hindsight, although we were officially mates, I don't think we really liked each other, but knew that we had a strong musical bond. Pete's departure meant that I spent four years writing songs that weren't very good. Sometimes they worked, almost by accident. From that era, the only song we still do is Action Shock. I wrote it and discarded it. I didn't like it, but when Venessa Sagoe joined the band, she found the lyrics in the lyric box and liked them. I'd not even written a proper tune. Venessa made it into a classic. I was struggling with writing but was to arrogant and stubborn to admit it. When that iteration of the band split up in September 1984, I decided to do a songwriters course. This was the best thing I ever did. I realised why the post Pete material was rubbish.
In 1985, Poet Allen Ashley joined the band. Allen was brilliant at making words work. He will probably disagree, but he wasn't really much good at the musical side of the songs. We soon had a rather good selection of numbers, which to me were sort of in the style of The Smiths. The stand out number was Winter in Your Heart.
Allen tells me that he got fed up with me nagging him to write a middle eight. When he finally did, he realised I was right! Allen departed in early 1986 and the band entered a bit of hiatus. I wrote a few songs that I think are pretty good, but we rarely performed. One of the songs nearly made an appearance on an album by one of the UK's most loved artists, but I rather stupidly refused to allow him a co-write, so it didn't happen. Here is a rather poor version of it with me singing as we emerged from lock down. This was our first rehearsal after lockdown. Graham (our drummer had recently lost his son, which made us emerge from the ashes of covid to do this).
In 1990, the False Dots were put on ice until 2002. Having stopped writing songs for twelve years, I had lost my songwriting mojo. I think I'd sort of forgotten the lessons I learned on the course. We had a few OK tunes, but listening to them now, I realise that I was making the same old mistake of not properly writing them, and not making sure they worked. The arrangements were lazy. A couple of the songs emerged that were pretty strong, with my favourite being I'm the man.
It is a simple song, but I happen to think it is a great Rock and Roll song. It was inspired by watching Gene Hunt in 'Life on Mars'. I liked the theme of a man doing things that are killing him, simply to stay alive and survive. Of that era, it is by far my favourite song. It is one of the few songs, that I didn't try and over-complicate in that period.
When Connie Abbe joined the band in 2009, I realised I had to up my game. I co-wrote and arranged Put me in the Spotlight with Connie, which I think is perhaps the best song I've ever written.
It really has it all. I wrote the lyrics for the chorus and Connie wrote the verses. We wrote it all in the studio. I wrote the dynamic intro so that it was suitable for use in TV, especially sport. This worked and the song was used by Manchester City FC, being the soundtrack for their website goal of the month show in 2012.
When Connie left the band, Allen Ashley rejoined. Allen reminded me of the need to properly craft lyrics. We wrote some banging songs. Perhaps the best of these was Saturday, a football song, Lee Thompson of Madness played sax on.
I wrote the first two verses and the chorus, Allen wrote the middle eight and the third verse and edited a few lines elsewhere. We have rewritten it a couple of times since Allen left, but Allen will always retain a credit.
In 2020, Allen left, and I was back in the hot seat. The band started to develop what has become our current set. I changed my songwriting style significantly and deliberately. I returned to the style of the Pete Conway era, where every song was a story, rather than the 'stream of consciousness' style of writing I'd adopted. I also introduced a healthy dollop of dark humour. The advent of mobile phones has been a blessing. If I get an idea, I will record it on the phone and then arrange it later. This could be lyrics or a whistled melody. I have had strange looks whistling into my phone on the tube. I realised that a big strength was my ability to write songs people connect with and that puts a smile on their face. Perhaps the best example (so far) is 'We All Love a Party".
This song tells the story of a party my parents had in 1974, to raise funds for the local Catholic Church. What is interesting is that everyone can connect with the characters and stories in it. I actually wrote the song verses whilst walking the dogs on Lundhurst Park. The chrous was really a nod to the TV series Shameless. Having got the basic lyrical structure, I changed it. The chorus line "Do the conga, drop your draws" was a late addition, as was the end of the chorus "But Aunty Dot is here, so you better hide the gin". That was a little homage to my mum and her sisters. Her eldest sister loved the G&T's and mum would always get bladdered when they went out (or stayed in). Mum's yougest sister didn't have my mums tolerance for alcohol, and would always end up in the loo, when the "girls got together". My Dad would always joke "Margo is coming, hide the Gin". Mum never found it funny. I loved my Mum, but in truth she never really found anything very funny, which was offset by my Dad, who found everything hilarious!
In 2023, Tom Hammond joined the band on Trumpet. This brought new opportunities and challenges. I'd never really composed trumpet lines before, Tom reads music, but I don't write it, I play by ear. So I did what I've learned to do. I spent a month listening to the best songs with cool brass and trumpet arrangements. The fruits of this show in our new single, Groovetown.
It is important to realise that music is always a work in progress. Things can always be improved and your next song may be your best (or your worst). What I've learned is that the best songs you can wrote are ones that you love. If writing a trumpet part, a vocal line, a clever lyric, etc gives you a buzz, you have succeeded. I don't write songs to become rich or line my pocket. I write songs to make people happy and put a smile on their face. Sometimes, I try and make a point about something I care about in a song. No one wants to be preached at by musicians, but I think if you listen to the False Dots music, especially the recent material, you'll have a pretty good idea of where we stand on most issues. If you just want to enjoy the tunes, that is great.
I had a wonderful evening on Saturday night. A good friend of mine asked me around for a barbeque. This is probably my favourite way of eating on a Saturday night. We have a long standing in joke about Nigerian Guinness and Jerk Chicken. We have often joked that if ever The Bridge Tavern in Mill Hill closes, we'll reopen it as a Nigerian Guinness and Jerk chicken bar. I shared my Jerk Chicken sauce recipe with him and it was excellent. In the course of the evening I got talking to one of his friends. We were discussing food. I expressed an opinion that if you don't know how to cook, you never really know if something tastes good. When I cook I am a serial expermineter. Like my friend, I am always keen to try new recipes. I was explaing to the guy I was chatting to that for me, a real eureka moment was chatting to a friend, who happens to be and elderly academic of Palestinian heritage. He told me that when he first arrived in the UK, the food always tasted very bland to him. He'd go to top restaurants, get the finest cuts of meat, but there was no flavour. Then he went around to his Palestinian mates for a barbeque and found the food was far more delicious than the top London fancy restaurants.
He realised that this was because they always cooked the food on the bone. The English have an aversion to bones in food. We'd happily eat something bland and tasteless, if it had no bones. This is why we are so keen on chicken nuggets. Te coating makes up for the flavour we remove by taking the bones out. The same is true for fish. This is a major cause of consternation in my house, as my wife hates fish with bones. If I cook fish, I have to fillet it for her. Invariably miss a bone and she berates me. Much to my wife's irritation, I also do not share her obsession with knives and forks, a very English foible. I am happy to pick up a chop and knaw the meat off it. She thinks this makes me an ignorant savage and suggests that I am akin to Fred Flintstone. I am somehow not upset by such comparisions. Of all the figures in modern TV and Film, I think Fred Flintstone is one of the happiest and there is much to admire about him.
One key feature of proper Palestinian cooking is that they use a firepit (known as a Zarb oven) to cook in. As I understand it, you dig a hole, line it with rocks, then fill it with charcoal and lit. The vegetables, juices and meat are all put in and the food cooks slowly. I need to try this. I quite like the concept of cooking a whole chicken in a firepit, it is one sort of cooking that London doesn't seem to be blessed with a huge selection of restaurants who do this. In principle, I love the idea of simply putting the food in a hole, going off for the day and coming back and it's cooked to perfection and delcious, but clearly there is more to it than that. Anyway, this is my big plan for the summer. To do this and get it right.
On Wednesday, Barnet Council will vote on whether to approve the massive Ballymore regeneration scheme in Edgware. This will change Edgware forever, if it is approved and comes to fruition. The developers, Ballymore will make a very large amount of money from the scheme. As for the existing residents of Edgware, the people who pay their council tax bills, lets be generous and say that the benefits will be far less obvious. Let me share with you the claimed benefits - My observations are in red italics
Town Centre
We intend to build a new Town Square - a destination where people can come together. It will form the centrepiece of the re-development, which will take its inspiration from local architecture, honouring Edgware’s character and heritage. - I am interested to see how shops underneath huge tower blocks 'honour Edgware's character and heritage'. I suppose you could claim that the large Green Sheild House has long been part of the Edgware landscape, but I am far from convinced that this rather dull piece of 1960's utilitarian design is necessarily something Edgware residents want to see used as a model for the rest of the town. I'm yet to be persuaded that this claim means anything beyond an idea in the mind of a marketing person, who obviously assumes the residents of Edgware are a bit dim and will fall for such old tosh.
Public Transport
To reduce congestion and to make crossings safer, we plan to move the bus garage underground, with the passenger terminal remaining at street level and sheltered bus stops dispersed along Station Road. This will support the future electrification of the bus network, reducing noise and pollution. There will also be new and improved connectivity to the Underground. - The idea of putting electric buses in an underground garage is insanity, given the problems with their batteries catching fire. The claim that the putting the gragae underground will reduce congestion is absolutely ridiculous. However you look at it, the existing garage is far safer. There is good interchange with the tube. Given the huge number of new flats, this scheme will clearly make congestion on the Northern Line worse, not better and to claim otherwise is simply dishonest. There are no new transport links.
Meanwhile, pedestrians will find it easier to get around with more paths and safer crossings. And those on bikes can look forward to over 500 short term cycle parking spaces across the scheme. - Given that the new 'safer' crossings are a key benefit, I am surprised that there is no real information on the website explaining how these will be safer.
Homes
We want to deliver 3,365 new homes of different types and sizes. Up to 35% of homes will be affordable - subject to GLA grant funding - making a significant contribution to Barnet Council’s housing waiting list. These homes will be designed for everyone, from students, families, and those later in life, in an array of tenures including market sale, rental, shared ownership, and affordable rent. We also want our new homes to look contemporary while being sympathetic to other buildings in the area. - The wording here troubles me. It doesn't say 35% of homes will be affordable. It says "up to" meaning far less may be actually delivered, and this is contingent on public money supporting the scheme. Given that the developers will make a lot of money, I am not entirely comfortable with the fact they are getting a bung from taxpayers (most or whom are opposed to the scheme). Anyone familiar with other schemes in Barnet know what happens in the real world when the buildings start going up.
Shops & Restaurants
At the centre of the town will be a new, larger, Sainsbury’s (without a day of trading lost during construction), accessible by the new Sainsbury’s car park and transport links. We'll have big high street brands plus independent shops and restaurants, so there is choice and variety for everyone. - When they talk about transport links, these are the buses and tubes that already exist. Sainsburys already has a car park. This is not a new benefit
Leisure
We’re pleased to announce that Edgware will get a new cinema. We have pop-ups and a food market planned. And there’ll be community leisure spaces to enjoy - including playgrounds, a new library, gym and swimming pool for families and beyond to enjoy the area. - Excuse my cynicism. I asked Google where the new swimming pool would be. The answer "The new swimming pool, part of the Edgware redevelopment project, will be located at the expanded leisure center near Edgware. The redevelopment plan also includes a gym and fitness studio according to Minuteman Press. The project will also deliver new homes and green spaces, including a nature park according to Ballymore. "
Healthcare
We’ve set aside 20,000 sq ft for health and wellbeing, which could include GP surgeries and dentists. We’re also talking to the NHS about their requirements. This will result in an offering bespoke to the needs of Edgware and its residents. - What exactly does this mean? I note the "could include GP Surguries and dentists" a long way from a firm commitment.This should be a ring-fenced condition of planning.
Open space
We want to make Edgware a greener place with better air quality. We will create 4.8 ha of open space, plant 400 more trees, introduce a new public park with pedestrian-friendly routes linking neighbourhoods, and reinvigorate the nearby Deans Brook Nature Park, opening up parts which have been closed for 100 years. - When they talk about 'creating 4.8ha of open space' this does not mean that there will be a net increase of 4.8ha in undeveloped land. I accept that there will be some improvement in quality and usability of some green space, but I am rather less convinced that this is actually what it is being sold as.
Office space
Besides being a great place to live, we want to make Edgware a great place to work. That’s why we are also planning a mixed-use building with over 50,000 ft sq of flexible offices, workspaces and hotel rooms - perfect for small businesses – right in the centre. - I know a fair few businesses owners in Edgware. They tell me that Edgware is a great place to live in and work in, but they are less than convinced that this will be improved for them, existing residents and business owners, who have paid their taxes for decades.
In short, many of the most important benefits, such as new affordable housing are not guaranteed. The underground bus station is a bonkers scheme that the Fire Brigade have expressed concerns about. I am not anti development. If this whole scheme wasn't riddled with if's, buts and convenient get outs for the developers for important commitments, I may support it. The truth is that if there own PR material is riddled with claims that don't stand up to scrutiny, what chance is there that this scheme will actually be good for Edgware?
But what concerns me more than the scheme is the way it has shown the uttwer hypocrisy of our local politicians. Prior to 2022, when Labour won in Barnet, they were very sceptical about this scheme. The Tories, on the other hand, where totally behind it. As soon as they lost, the position reversed. There has been absolutely no change in council policy towards the scheme and Ballymore as a result of regime change.
Let me ask you this. Who elects our local politicians, who pays their 'allowances', who are they meant to serve? The answer is us, the voters. They are meant to be on our side, and they are meant to ensure that council officials work for us, as residents and tax payers. What we actually have is a bunch of people, who seemingly despise the voters. When I attended a recent Council cabinet meeting, I was truly shocked at the way things are under Labour. They are not rude and revolting to the public, as the Tories used to be. They are polite, but they made it absolutely clear that they had no interest at all in the views of the public. So who's views are they interested in? Well they seem very interested to cosy up to big developers. I do not think that the relationship should be hostile, we are all grown ups and we know that we need more housing. What, however, we should expect is for councillors to be our advocates. They should be on our side and be making sure that when developers submit schemes, they take account of existing residents and minimise impacts on them, as well as maximising benefits.
It's all rather sad. I won't be going to Wednesday's meeting. I have tickets for a concert. One thing I learned at the cabinet is that Labour 'sort business out' before the public are involved.
In an idle moment yesterday, I was thinking back to my very first girlfriend. I think we were both about six years old and we met on the set of a commercial we were both acting in, we really hit it off. We were the only kids amongst a lot of very serious adults, working hard on the production. We spent three days together and got on like a house on fire. After the shoot finished, we never saw each other again. Anyone who has ever participated in a TV advert shoot in the 1960's will know that you have a lot of time on your hands. We spent a lot of time discussing what we'd do when we grew up. She told me that she planned to be an actress and write books. I said I wanted to also be an actor and be in James Bond films. She told me that she wanted to live in a big house with apple trees. I told her that I wanted to live on a boat, keep dogs and cats and dress like a pirate. I wanted a parrot to sit on my shoulder.
I've no idea whether she achieved her dream. I can't recall her surname. I have never starred in a James Bond film, I don't have a boat, dress like a pirate or have a parrot to sit on my shoulder. I've had a cat and we've got two dogs, so I am living a little bit of the dream. There is still a little bit of my that would quite like to live on a canal longboat, with dogs and cats. I am not really sure that I want to dress as a pirate anymore. I think I'd probably just seen Long John Silver in Treasure Island at the time and it must've had a big impact on me. I quite liked the idea of being a buccaneer and sailing the world, looking for treasure.
Several members of my family are very much into boats. Sadly none of them dress like a pirate or have a parrot. I have come to realise that owning a boat is less about sailing the world, looking for lost treasure and a lot more about spending your life (and most of your cash) working on the boat, getting it ready for journeys that never seem to happen. But unlike a lot of people, they are at least living their dream.
My dream changed. When I was fourteen, I discovered rock and roll. For me, the dream is playing in a band, playing gigs and making recordings. When my children were small, I very much put my dream to one side. I think that your first priority is to fulfil your responsibilities, but now they are adults, I've thrown myself back into my music. I see so many of my friends and peers, who seem totally unable to give themself permission to enjoy themselves. People sometimes ask me about my bucket list. It is short. I've made sure I've done most of the things I want to do in life. I think that going to see Boz Scaggs live is perhaps one of the few things yet to be ticked off.
I've been to all of the places I had a burning desire to visit, I've seen just about all of the bands I want to see. Back in 1990, I went through a spell where I got into boats and sailing, but realised I am only really interested in the sailing part. Actually owning a boat is far too much hassle for a lazy git like me.
I was chatting to a friend earlier in the week. He was telling me about his aspirations for his forthcoming retirement. I was struck by the fact that he's spent the last 30 years not doing things he wanted to do. He has more than enough money to have done all of them, but seems unable to give himself permission to enjoy himself. I asked if he was now going to have a big splurge on holidays. His reply shocked me. He said "Well now I've not got cash coming in, I've got to be careful financially".
I do get that we all have to budget, but there are so many people I know who are well off enough to do all of the things that they'd like to, but are too risk averse and cautious with cash to enjoy themselves. Whilst dressing up as a pirate and living on a boat is not everyone's idea of fun, we all have our dreams. Our time on this planet is limited and we can't take our cash with us. Of course, we all have to decide what the right balance is for us. My friend is right to be careful with his cash and ensure he can make ends meet. I just hope that in a few years, he doesn't have regrets about the holidays he didn't have, the gigs and football he didn't go to and the restaurants he didn't visit.
We are lucky to live in London, the world is on our doorstep. My friend is planning to downsize, move out to the country, where he can have a nice house, with a nice view and a big nest egg. He was shocked when I said that if ever I moved, I'd move into town, so I could be even closer to all the things going on and an even quicker commute home. I don't really understand why anyone would want to live somewhere with nothing going on. But the beauty of life is that we are all different and see the world in different ways. Ultimately, when you are an adult you can do what you want, be it dress, like a pirate and live on a boat, move to the country and spend your life admiring the view from your living room or playing gigs in Camden Town. If it works for you and you are happy, then you've done something right. If you aren't happy, then maybe you need to have a look and make some changes. One thing I've become increasingly aware of is that you have to do things now. If you put it off, then the sands of time may run out. If you need to make changes, now is the time to do it.
My amazing bandmate, vocalist and trumpeter, Mr Tom Hammond threw down a challenge to me. He didn't know he did, but any such thing requires a proper response. You see Tom posted a Spotify playlist of the ten best songs of the current decade. As anyone who knows Tom will know, it contains some brilliant music. Many of the bands are new to me, Tom is a different generation to me, having just turned 40. Like me, though, music is a central pillar of his life. Anyway, here is Tom's list. I'd comment it to every genuine music lover.
Anyway, that's Tom's list. Here's mine. I applied a rule that Tom didn't. I only allowed one song per artist. I am not sure it would have made a huge difference. All of the artists on this list, I've seen live this decade apart from one, who, God willing, I will see in November. Here is why I chose the songs, apart from the fact that they are brilliant songs, by amazing artists! They are not in any particular order
1. Bilk - Band life blues. I started with this, as a homage to Tom, who introduced them to me. My favourite new band. What I most like about this band is that they are what the False Dots would sound like if we were formed in Chelmsford this century. I feel I could have written this song. It is almost autobiographical, give or take 45 years. Great live as well.
2. The Healthy Junkies - Son and a Daughter. This lot are great live. They are a lot more rocky than this, but this is an absolute classic. When I saw them, I immediately said to them after "Release that as a single". I don't know if that swayed their decision, but they have and it is a classic. It should be a no 1!
3. Blur - The Narcissist. Damon Albarn is a genius, Blur have been making great records for decades and this is, for me, the best song on their new album. They are an example to all of us geriatric rock and rollers.
4. Ben Sidran - Rainmaker. Ben Sidran is my favourite Jazz artist. He's in his 80's, but he seems to get better every year. This song is a beautiful and very groovy tune.
5. The Dualers - Johnny Dangerous. One of the best Ska bands on the circuit. The best song from their recent album, IMHO.
6. Wire - German Shepherds. Wire have been brilliant since 1977. They can do experimental, they can do punk and they can do lush pop, which this is. As I've got a German Shepherd, this one rather tickles me.
7. Sunny War - Ghosts. Probably my favourite new female artist of the decade (new to me that is). Saw her at the Slaughtered Lamb a couple of years ago. This is my fave song from her recent album (which features a collaboration with Steve Ignorant of Crass, who was a mate of mine back in 1978 until we argued about whether The Dickies were Punk Rock at their gig at the Marquee! Still love you to death Steve).
8. Ed Kuepper - Swing for the crime. A reworking of an old Saints song. A great track from my favourite Saints song Prehistoric Sounds. Ed has done a good job on the rework. I was torn whether a rework was appropriate, but it is a banger in both versions.
9. Madness - I'd do anything (If I could). I've probably seen Madness more times than any other band. It is easy and rather lazy to dismiss their later work. This song really stands up.
10. Those Naughty Lumps - Bacon Archaeology. This lot are mates, this was recorded at the studio, but that has no bearing on it's inclusion. I think it is a great bit of punk pop. It is quirky, funny and up tempo. I like songs with quirky titles and silly subject matter.
And I've included a bonus track! My favourite False Dots song of the current decade. I'll let you decide whether it should be in this list, but I rather like it. it is Groovetown
As is the tradition on Barnet Blogs, we start with The Friday Joke, once again courtesy of purveyor of fine Dad Jokes, our Twitter mate Robert Wilkinson
I met a woman in the pub, she said "my friends call me Vivaldi." "Ah, so you love your Classical music then?" I asked. She replied "No, my name's Viv and I work in Aldi."
Friday 18th Butchers Arms 9pm – 11.30pm The Tailfeathers (70s soul, funk and disco) duo Barrington 8.30 - midnight Karaoke with Neil The Haven 8pm – 11pm Dennis Cook – (Musician, vocalist and DJ)
Saturday 19th Butchers Arms 9pm - midnight Highstone (60s, 70s, 80s and 90s covers) Ye Olde Monken Holt 9.30pm – midnight Alex Kennedy (Acoustic Covers) The Catcher in the Rye, Finchley 8pm - 11pm The CosmicPixies (Rock Covers) East Barnet United Services Club 8.30pm Karaoke The Arkley Club 8.30pm – 11pm £5 cash on door Back To The Groove (DJ)
Sunday 20th East Barnet RBLegion 2 – 5pm ELA Ye Olde Monken Holt 7pm – 9pm Creekside (Americana) Butchers 8.30 – 11.30pm Butchers Arms Jam Electric/Blues/Rock (Full backline available) Toolans 8.30pm TBC
Saturday 26th Butchers Arms 9pm – 11.30pm Horizon (Rock Covers and original)The Lord Kitchener 8.30pm - late Karaoke with Johno East Barnet RB Legion 8.30pm – 11.30pm Red Herring (Rhythm and blues) The Arkley Club 8.30pm – 11pm Karaoke and Disco
Sunday 27th East Barnet RBLegion 2 – 5pm Dave Collison's Roy Orbison Tribute & Human Jukebox Ye Olde Monken Holt 7pm – 9pm Smokin Whiskers (Acoustic covers) Butchers 8.30 – 11.30pm Butchers Arms Jam Electric/Blues/Rock (Full backline available) The Bohemia 7.30pm – 10pm £10 online or at bar Bespoke Pedal Club (Jazz Funk Country Blues)
Monday 28th Ye Olde Mitre Inn, High Street 8pm – 11pm (stables room) Barnet Acoustics Session
Wednesday 30th Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 11pm Open Mic Night
Thursday 31st Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 10.30pm Irish Session Maddens 9pm Ronnie Gordon Legacy Band
Ten years ago, I published a series of three blogs that detailed my experiences of schooling as a dyslexic in the 1960's and 1970's. I have republished them today, as they have turned into some of the most important episodes of this blog. What inspired me to revisit the series is the number of comments that the blogs, especially episode two have attracted. My comments about the education provided by Finchley Catholic High School and its teachers have spurred a huge number of comments about the school and its predecessors Challoner School and Finchley Grammar School. The blogs were written from my perspective as a dyslexic going through a hostile environment. I had assumed that the blogs would really only be of interest to people with an interest in dyslexia wanting a first hand experience of education for dyslexics in the last century. What I have found is that there is a huge well of people who attended my old school who feel desperately let down, for want of a better phrase, by the school.
When I read the comments on blog two in the series, I see a horrific glimpse into a thankfully long gone world. Here is just one comment that gives you some idea of what people had to say "If you left the school in 1969, you might recall a school year, a year or two earlier, when Coughlan's daily 'caning queues' reduced to almost zero? I was subsequently told that Coughlan ensured 'discipline' returned to normal the very next scholastic year!". Can you imagine a school with 'caning queues' today? In many ways, the comments on blog two are far more interesting than the actual blog.
Interestingly, when I wrote the blog, my son was at Finchley Catholic High School. When I left, I vowed I'd never set foot in the place again. Yet my son went there. What happened. The most important thing was that the school changed, as did education in the UK. Thankfully, none of my children are dyslexic. After my experiences, I would not wish that on anyone. Even more importantly, none of my children were beaten at school. When I was at FCHS and getting regularly clobbered, I just assumed that if you were a child and you were naughty at school, or if the teachers decided you had been, to be more accurate, you got beaten. I assumed that if we weren't regularly clobbered, we'd all run riot. I was wrong. None of my kids ran riot at school. They had their own challenges, but they never had that sick feeling in the pit of their stomach, where you are sent to the headmaster and you know you will be thrashed. It is bad enough when you've been naughty and been caught, but when you've not and a teacher has randomly decided you are the culprit, because you are a troublemaker, it is difficult to take.
I was a very immature and angry person. My response was to lash out and get even. I did many stupid things and realised that when you get your revenge, it is far better to plan it and execute it in such a way that you get away with it. I have a confession to make here. One I am not proud of. A mate of mine joined me on a mission to break into the then headmaster of FCHS's office in the summer holiday. We trashed it and read some of his files on us. Back then, there was no CCTV. We had a cunning plan. After reading our files, we carefully placed our records back. The files contained all manner of incorrect assumptions and a clear bias against me, based on personal dislike. The one thing that really shocked me,was that my record stated that I had "homosexual and deviant tendencies which pose a risk to other students". Given that I do not, this was shocking to me. The reason? I'd been sent home for wearing dayglo pink socks that were a punk fashion in 1977. Years later, my mother told me that the head had informed her I had homosexual tendencies. She asked what I had done. He replied "He came to school in pink socks". My mother apparently replied "Elvis Presley wears pink socks and he's definitely not a homosexual". We saw all manner of things that were incorrect about our mates as well. There was a moment where we looked at each other and simply said "How can they write this rubbish".
We then found the records of people we didn't like, from other classes, and left them out , having scrawled comments on them, indicating that the contents of the file were inaccurate. We figured that the school would assume they were the perpetrators. It was the summer after I left the school. I never knew what the fallout, if any was, but PC plod never knocked on my door. We were very careful to make a mess and only damage the personal possessions of the headmaster. We took great delight in defacing the picture of him receiving his degree, in his gown and cap. We added a Hitler moustache and a few rude words. We wore gloves on the mission, so we left no trace. . I took great pleasure in trashing the office. It was a cathartic moment. The man had abused me, both mentally and physically. I am now an adult and do not advocate violence and vandalism, but I do not regret doing that.
After the 'raid' we vowed never to speak of it again. We realised that the consequences would be serious, even though we'd not broken anything and just made a mess. I've not seen my fellow perpetrator in decades. What troubles me, to this day, is my lack of regret. I realise that it was most likely the cleaners, etc who had to sort the mess out. I am sure the Headmaster was furious at his picture being defaced. I can't say I'm sorry, but other than that and some graffiti on the wall, there was nothing that wouldn't be tidied up in ten minutes. In truth, I was brimming with anger at the time. I hated the man and felt that it was the least he deserved. It is the only time in my life I've ever vandalised anything. About a week after, I had a terrible nightmare about it. I dreamed that the police had caught me and I was going to court. I was facing a prison sentence and it seemed like the whole school was there to denounce me and express their disappointment in me. To this day, I can remember waking up and feeling terrified. I am not cut out to be a criminal, the dream was my minds way of reminding me such things are not OK.
By September, I was at Orange Hill School. My experience there, as I told in episode three, was positive. I never caused trouble, I never got caned. I even got asked to arrange the music for a reception for the Deputy Headmaster. He confided that when I'd joined the school, they'd been informed I was a troublemaker and not to let me join. He said that he was pleasantly surprised. I explained that it was because I was at a well run school. This wasn't brown nosing, it was the truth. When I had gone to Orange Hill for an interview with the head master, prior to joining, he asked me a series of searching questions. I realised that he must have received my school file. As I'd read this, I had my answers ready. I explained that I had a personality clash with the Head at FCHS and I believed he'd developed an irrational dislike of me. I was able to give a couple of examples. As many of the comments in the file referenced my lack of a good Roman Catholic ethos, I also made a point of saying that he only really liked good Catholic boys from Irish families. The Head master chuckled and said "I get the feeling he certainly disliked you". Orange Hill was not in any way religious.
But my dyslexia has never gone away. I still under achieved at Orange Hill. I do not blame the school. Doing A Levels was absolutely the edge of my academic capacity. Completing exams in the allotted time was simply unfeasible. The problem is, I have to read every question three times. My brain processes the information far more slowly. I get the answers right, but I simply can't complete the papers in time. I always failed to answer a couple of questions. I also had to read back through my answers to ensure I hadn't written things the wrong way around. Add to that the pressure of the environment. These days, dyslexics get extra time. Ignorant commentators claim this is unfair. Why? Exams are meant to measure your knowledge, not your capacity to write it down as quickly as possible.
My schooling taught me many things. Some of them are things that no child should need to learn. I learned that if I was pushed, I was capable of bad things and that I had no guilt about these things. I leaned that people in authority abuse their position. I learned that people in authority, who keep records, get things completely wrong. I learned that if you dig too deeply you learn some very disturbing things. I learned that there are files written about you, which you will never see. There may well be things in them that will affect your life choices. I have also learned that there are massive omissions in such files. For instance, no mention of the fact that I was dyslexic. I wasn't diagnosed, but competent teachers should have figured it out after four and a half years at the school. There was no mention of any of the good things I'd done whilst at the school. I am a natural organiser and our form had done well in fund raising exercises in our early years at the school. There was no mention of the endless requests for better music provision (although there were comments about delusions of grandeur).
What I have come to realise is that being dyslexic and having an above average intelligence was a very toxic mix in the 1960's and 70's. I was always going to fail educationally, but I had the wit and the wherewithal to thrive. I was extremely adaptive and I am a survivor. When I re-read the three blogs before starting this episode, it brought it all back. The anger, the pain, the sense of injustice. It interests me that the second blog, where I talk about the worst time has attracted dozens of comments, whilst the third, where I get my life together has attracted zero. It seems that the stress and pain rings a bell with a lot of people. It worries me that rising above it receive less interest.
And here I am. I am sixty two years old and doing fine. I have moved on. Writing those three blogs has helped.
In part one and part two of this seriesI talked about my experiences up to the age of 14 (ish) and how dyslexia affected my life and my education. Up until now, it must have all seemed very negative and very difficult. This period will deal with the period from June 6th 1977 until the 13 December 1980. It may seem odd to have picked two such random dates, but there is a reason. I was 14 on June 6th 1977. This was the day I saw New York Punk legends The Ramones at the Roundhouse. The 13th December 1980 was the day I performed my first gig in public at the Harwood Hall in Mill Hill.
You may wonder what all this has to do with dyslexia? Well when I woke up on June 6th 1977, I wasn't particularly interested in music, I couldn't play a musical instrument, I was doing badly at school and I was very unhappy. As I now have a teenage son who has just turned 15, it gives me a degree of insight into my own mood and behaviour. At that age most teenagers are moody. Hormones kick in and we feel as if our world is being turned on its head. If you weren't particularly happy in the first place, it is a miserable time. I had no confidence. I had an interest in girls, but I felt that I was so completely useless that I was scared stiff of them (no pun intended). School was a nightmare. The headmaster of the school I was at hated my guts and missed no opportunity to try and ridicule and humiliate me. Many people must feel like that, but I actually had documentary proof of it. The reason for his animosity was due to the fact that he taught our class religious studies and I had the audacity to argue with him on matters religious. The odd thing was that at the time I was quite a firm believer in Roman Catholicism, but I could see that some of the doctrines were, shall we say, at odds with the realities of society in the 1970's. We clashed during a debate on the subject of birth control. When I quoted various figures at him from the WHO, he blew a fuse and I got a letter to my parents on the subject. From that day forth, I had no future at FCHS. Sadly at the time, I just saw him as a man of respect and assumed it was me who had the problem.
Anyway, June 6th was the day before Queen Elizabeths silver jubilee. I'd been vaguely aware of punk rock. I'd seen the infamous Bill Grundy interview with the Sex Pistols. I'd thought it was funny. My mum, who had six kids was disgusted. I'd not actually heard any of their music though. I didn't listen to music. I went around to see my sister, who was living in a flat around the corner. She had got tickets to see the Ramones, Talking Heads and the Saints at the Roundhouse. She asked me if I'd like to go. I'd never heard the Ramones, so she played me "Sheena is a Punk Rocker". It sounded OK, nothing special. My sister had a friend who I quite fancied (they were both 18) and was very pretty and I thought that it was a chance to see a bit of her. I didn't think I had a chance, but I just enjoyed being around her friend. She was one of the very few people who'd always been nice to me. So I thought "why not". We turned up at the Roundhouse and one of the good things was my sister would always get me a few beers, which was one thing I did enjoy (yes I know 14 year olds shouldn't drink). My mum had told my sister that if I "turned out bad" it would all be her fault. Anyway, The Saints were first on. They'd just flown over from Australia, they made a right old racket. As my Dad was an Aussie, I felt I should like them, but again it was nothing special. Next up were the Talking Heads. After The Saints, I found them a bit bemusing. I'd never heard of them, and beleive it or not I thought they were a Country and Western band. I was fascinated by the bassplayer Tina Weymouth. Their keynote song was "Psycho Killer" with a very distinctive bassline. I was intrigued by the way Tina's breasts moved in time with the bass. I was a 14 year old boy after all. At this point, I had the experience marked down as mildly enjoyable. Not as good as football, but a bit better than playing table tennis at the youth club. Then the Ramones came on. If you never saw the Ramones in their heyday, it is impossible to describe the experience. Even watching live videos doesn't convey the raw power and force of the band. In all my life, I've never had a more life changing experience. They walked on, shouted 1234 and played 30 minutes of mindblowing punk rock. All too soon, they'd done their final encore of Pinhead, with its coda of "Gabba Gabba Hey". In those 30 minutes, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. The thing about the Ramones was they were a) Ugly, b) Were not very technically gifted musicians and c) were a million times better live than any other band that has ever lived. They opened my eyes. The thing about the Ramones was that it wasn't what they did, it was they way they did it.
Over the following weeks, I started to buy punk rock albums. There used to be a record shop in Mill Hill Broadway. The first album I purchased was "Puremania" by The Vibrators. I knew nothing about Punk Rock, but I liked the cover. They became my favourite band. Other albums followed. The Damned, The Buzzcocks, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Heartbreakers. Although I was only a kid, I started going to see as many gigs as I possibly could. I did a paper round, worked in the butchers and washed cars at my Dads car repair firm. All of this money was spent on albums and gigs. I bought the NME and read it from cover to cover. I listened to John Peel every night, as he was a great source of new bands to check out. All of a sudden, life was exciting and life had meaning.
At FCHS, music passed the vast majority of the pupils by. Most of my classmates were more interested in prog rock. Most hated punk and there were even a bunch of Teds, who I didn't get on with. In fact I only had three or four mates at school who liked punk. The most important of these was Pete Conway, who had been a mate since primary school. Pete was an incredibly bright guy. A natural poet and a great wit. He was, like me, a deeply troubled soul, for reasons I've nver fathomed. His Dad had high hopes for him, but the two had ceased to get on. Pete should have got O levels and A levels and gone to Oxford, but he decided to simply stop bothering. By mid 1978, we'd decided to form a band. The trouble was, neither of us had any instruments and we couldn't play. Our education at Finchley finished in 1978, Pete just stopped going and I got expelled a week before the O levels, following an altercation with the headmaster.
The circumstances of my expulsion have always rankled. The headmaster had tried to expel me in in November 1977 for writing obscene comments about a female member of staff on a school survey. I hadn't done this, another boy in another class had done it "for a laugh" and put my name on it. I knew who did it, but I refused to grass them up to the headmaster and refused to believe "my story". As I was waiting outside his office as he tried to contact my parents, John Shuttler, who was the physics teacher and is a great bloke walked past. He asked what was up. I explained. He told me to tell him the name of the boy who'd done it. I refused. He said "If you tell me, I'll sort it out and I'll make sure he doesn't get into trouble". So I told him. John Shuttler was one of the few teachers I trusted. He was also a great physics teacher. He was good to his word. He actually told me he couldn't believe that something was being blown out of all proportion. Given that the saidf questionaire said that one of the improvements was to "cut his wife's tits off" (she was also a teacher), I thought he was really decent. I am sure that being a sensible guy, he just saw it as a bunch of hormonal, emotionally stunted teenagers expressing their appreciation in a rather silly way. He actually persuaded the boy who wrote it to come forward and confess his guilt to the head. What happened next was quite surreal. We stood before the headmaster. Me having done nothing wrong and the boy who had done it, having confessed his guilt and apologising to Mr Shuttler for the comments about his missus. The headmaster then turned to me and said "You are lucky this fine young lad has chosen to speak up for you. If I'd had my way you'd have been out of the door". No apology, nothing. At that second, I lost all respect for the man and his school. I felt very angry. John Shuttler invited me into his office and we had a long chat. He explained that he thought I was intelligent and could go to university. He said I had a natural talent for physics.
How do you think I responded? You will be disappointed to know that I responded very badly. A couple of days later, I was caught writing obscene graffiti on the toilet walls about Mr Shuttlers wife. Have you ever done something and not had a clue why. I really liked the pair of them, but I was so angry about my treatment that I did it to get back at the school. And you may wonder what Mr Shuttler did next? What would you do? Well, as I said, he's a top banana. He took me to his office, with the head of year. They agreed that it would not be good to tell the headmaster. They asked why I'd done it. I said that I was just really angry about the school. He asked me if I'd considered how he felt when he saw rude things written about his wife on the toilet wall? The answer was, of course I hadn't. I was an immature kid who was lashing out wldley and in totally the wrong direction. I apologised profusely. They conferred and asked me how I intended to make amends. I said "Well I'm studying Painting and decorating, I could repaint the toilets in the Xmas holidays". John Shuttler said "Yes and you can buy the paint". We agreed, between the three of us, that we'd tell no one of why. It was agreed that the story would be that I needed to practice my painting technique. So, I spent the Xmas holiday of 1977 repainting the boys toilets at FCHS at my own expense.
When we returned, John Shuttler again called me into his office. I thought that it was going to be some sort of follow up. He said "thanks for painting the toilets, you did a good job". I apologised, he said "nothing happened, there is nothing to apologise for, we've erased that, haven't we". We then had a chat about music. I found out years later, that he used to build guitar amps under the name "Nolan". They were copies of Marshall valve amps. He then said "I am worried about you, you seem very angry about things". I didn't really understand what he meant, as I wasn't feeling angry when he said it. He then said "I want you to promise me something". As I respected him and felt I owed him big time, I said "Anything, yes of course". He said "Your problem is that when you get angry, you simply lash out. Will you promise me that in future when you are angry, you stop, think about what is making you angry and deal with that in a rational way". I was quite shocked. In his wisdom, he'd clearly analysed what my problem was and why I was behaving badly. He had given me a solution to some of my problems. From that day, I've always tried to abide by that promise. That is why I started writing this blog. It is quite simple really. This was really tested more or less immediately. I had been studying English Literature. We'd had mock O Levels before Xmas. I thought I'd done well in the mock. I had studied quite hard. My reading had significantly improved between the age of 12 and 15. I had actually started reading books. I enjoyed Richard III which was our set book and had read it cover to cover twice. As we were given our marks, I was eagerly expecting a B or a C (great marks for me). Miss Walsh, a bitter ex nun who I didn't get on with, announced my mark with a deadpan voice Roger Tichborne, zero. I couldn't believe it. That was impossible. It turned out that when I'd arrived for the exam, she'd given me the paper for the other group sitting the mock. They were doing the same book. I immediately stood up and started argueing. I was sent out of class. I felt completely stitched up. When the lesson finished, I started arguing again, so she insisted I went up to see the head of year. I stated that the school had given me the wrong paper, so they should mark my answers against the paper I'd been given. Walsh was adamant that this would not happen. The head of year, seemed to have some sympathy for me. He said "Ok, you can resit the exam". Miss Walsh will arrange with you. She said "You must sit it now". So with no preparation, and with all of that stress, I sat the exam again. I scored 37% and was slung out of English literature. I felt incandescent with rage, as I knew I would have passed the O Level.
But in the 1970's you could do nothing. I then recalled my promise to John Shuttler. Deal with the source of your anger. I wasn't going to have an O Level in English Literature. I could do nothing about Miss Walsh stitching me up. Or could I? I am illiterate. I couldn't even pass an exam in English Literature. It occurred to me that there was a way of getting revenge. Like Machiavelli, it would be served very cold. Until that point, I'd vaguely thought about putting a band together, but I realised that if I wrote songs and played in a band and was successful, it would be a big two fingers up at the school and Miss Walsh. Unfortunately, this decison had a poor effect on my academic career. In my mocks, I scored B's and C's in all subjects. As I spent every night playing music and writing songs, I neglected studies. I got four O levels. Building Studies - Decoration and Design, RE (I got a B, worked hard at it to stick two fingers up at the Headmaster), Physics (I owed that to John Shuttler) and English Language (bust my balls for that, to stick 2 fingers up at Miss Walsh, I doubt I'd have passed that without my hatred of her to drive me). I failed Maths, Chemistry and Biology. I was expelled three days before the end of my final term. I had an argument with the headmaster over lateness and so he used it as an excuse. My Dad made a huge fuss and I was allowed to sit the O Levels, on the understanding that I was not allowed to talk to anyone on the school premises apart from teachers.
At that time, I didn't know I was dyslexic. In all of my educational career, I never got an A for anything apart from maths. If I worked hard, I got a C and if I worked hard and had a flair for something, I'd get a B. For some reason, if I applied myself to Maths I found it rather easy. Sadly this backfired in my O level. I got 96% in the mock, so did no work after that, assuming I'd pass. I failed.
I was useless at languages, I was taking French, but no matter how hard I tried, it was simply gobbledygook. Strangely, I've found that I can pick up langauges quite easily if I am in a foreign country, but cannot learn them in a classroom. I ascribe this to dyslexia. I find that unless a word has a meaning, my brain rejects it. So I can remember that an apple in French is a Pomme, but as to tenses etc, they mean nothing. I have no idea how I managed to pass English Language. I just worked extremely hard at it. Another thing about being dyslexic is the time it takes to do exams. I've yet to do any exam, apart from Maths, where I have finished in time. It seems like I'd start and before I got to the end, the time was up. I find that I have to read questions three times to understand them and make sure that I haven't missed a key point.
The summer of 1978, was all about trying to get the band together. I had a job lined up with North Thames Gas Board, studying gas engineering. This would involve a five year course at Salford College and Manchester UMIST. I would get paid and get a professional qualification. Sadly, as I failed maths O level this fell through. I was devastated. I realised that whatever I wanted to do, I needed a Maths O level. I wasn't welcome back at FCHS, so what to do? My sister had been to Orange Hill Senior High School, so I thought I'd try my luck there.
My parents were amazed when I informed them that I intended to retake my O Levels and do A Levels. They'd always written me off as a thicko. The first part of this was to actually get into the school. I wasn't exactly an acedemic high flyer and Orange Hill had a good reputation. An interview with Mr Culley, the head was set up. He posed a question "Whys should I let you into my school, when you have poor results and a reputation as a troublemaker". I explained that I felt I'd been treated unfairly and must have bored him to death explaining why. I then said that in the summer I'd realised I needed to get O and A levels, so I would be committed to my studies. He announced that he'd "take a chance on me" but the first time I misbehaved, I'd be out of the door.
I found myself in a totally different environment. Wheras FCHS had been a boys school, Orange Hill was mixed. This was like being let out of prison. At Finchley, many of the teachers had seemed as they were simply going through the motions, teaching boys who didn't want to be there, at Orange Hill the teachers were largely friendly and engaging. I took five O levels, and passed them all easily. I found that if I followed a dsiciplined pattern of work, I could do what was needed.
The biggest difference though, was the attitude to music at the school. At FCHS, I'd had run ins with the Teds, who strangely morphed into Skinheads when SHAM69 hit the scene. The Skinheads were the school hardnuts and the punks were the freaks, it wasn't a good side of divide to sit on, if you wanted a peaceful life. At Orange Hill, everyone seemed interested in music and most liked punk and new wave. Even better we had several bands, most notably the Polecats. When I first met Boz Boorer and Phil Bloomberg, who were rockabillys, I thought it would be a troublesome relationship, based on my experiences from FCHS. I realised straight away they both loved punk as much as I did.
The presence of these bands inspired me. Throughought 1979, I started putting a band together. The pattern was the same. Find someone, have a few rehearsals, split up. Then the Poelcats did a demo at a local studio. I found out that it only cost £100. I thought "we can do that". So I announced to the band that we were going to do a demo. The core of the band was myself, Pete Conway and Hank Marvins son Paul. We were madly writing songs and rehearsing. I played guitar, Paul played drums and Pete played bass and vocals. We were rubbish, but it was great fun. We wrote our first classic, "Not All She Seems". It was the story of a Transvestite Prostitute, who is an object of desire for a rich businessman. Like most False Dots songs, it ended badly for all concerned!. Paul Marvin suggested that we needed another guitarist to play lead and Paul Hircombe joined. Paul was 14 at the time. Paul looked like a rock and roll star and was a brilliant musician. He was also someone who loved to live life on the edge. We started to rehearse for a demo, booked it up and just before it was due, Paul Marvin left the band. Alan Warner, guitarist of the Foundations, who owned the studio where we were doing the demo, said his mate Dav, could step in. Dav was from Shrewsbury and was a brilliant drummer. We recorded a three song demo and I think its fair to say everyone was surprised by what emerged. With Paul Hircombe on guitar and Dav on Drums, we actually sounded pretty good.
Then, as ever there was a big argument and Pete Conway quit the band. Paul Hircombe moved to bass and another schoolmate of mine from Orange Hill, Craig Withecombe joined. Craig is a brilliant guitarist. I was determined to do a gig and re record "Not All She Seems" with the new setup. Pete Conway had heard rumours that the band was getting quite good. As he'd co written all of the songs, he rejoined as vocalist. I booked a gig on the 13 December 1980 at the Harwood Hall in Mill Hill. I secured two other local bands who wanted to play and charged a quid to get in. I told the bands they could have £20 each. The place was packed and I made a huge profit. I was by now in the final year of my A Levels. I was doing Maths, Biology and Physics.
I applied for Universities as I felt I should, but in truth wasn't interested in going. I just wanted to play in a band. Craig was a far better musician, but realised the value of studying. I was having problems with Maths. For the first term of A levels, we had an excellent Maths teacher, Mr Rackyleffe, but he resigned and we then had some truly appalling teachers. Recalling Mr Shutlers advice, I decided to deal with the problem. I lead a delegation of Maths A Level students to see the headmaster and insisted they sack one particularly useless teacher. It was agreed that the head of maths would sit in on a lesson, to see if we had a case. This duly happened and the head of maths agreed with us. The bad teacher was sacked. But sadly for me, the years of academic underachievement, fuelled by my dyslexia meant I'd conditioned myself to accept failure. Wheras my peers got parents to arrange private tuition to catch up the two lost terms, I simpy floated along deluding myself that it would be alright. In truth, I was so obsessed with music that I wasn't really that bothered.
Up until the gig at the Harwood Hall, all of the songs were co-written by myself and Pete Conway. As I mentioned earlier, Pete was a natural poet and in my opinion a genius. We'd sit around and fine tune lyrics, so they were powerful and meaningful. The quality of our writing improved. Pete would take events and work them into songs. One girl we knew had a row with her mother and stabbed her mum in the arm with a kitchen knife. One of our early songs was a song called "Bone". Its first verse was originally written by me.
Preachers say I've gotta be good, give me a reason why I should
Having a laugh don't do no harm, so why do they always sound the alarm.
Pete changed to the following
Daddy says I've gotta be good, give me a reason why I should
Having a laugh don't do no harm, so stab your mother in the arm.
Now it clearly isn't a masterpiece, but you have to admit that the Pete Conway version is far more powerful. It is quite strange, because at the time we thought it was hilarious, but people didn't see the humour. When Hank Marvin, who is a committed Jehovas Witness saw some of our lyrics, he forbade Paul from playing with us, which was a major setback.
So our journey that started on June 6th has arrived at Harwood Hall. I'm playing guitar in a half decent band, I've co-written a bunch of songs which I'm pretty proud of. I'm pretty convinced that the Conway/Tichborne songwriting partnership will be the next Lennon/McCartney. We have a band with the worlds best looking and coolest bassplayer in Paul Hircombe. Craig is a brilliant guitarist and Dav is a fantastic drummer. I was convinced that Pete had what it took as a singer to make it. The gig would be the moment when we could step forward and show everyone that we were right and they were wrong. It was our opportunity to silence the doubters. We'd booked up to do another demo and we were on fire. I felt that with six months to go until my A levels, everything was in place. By the time summer hit, we'd be ready to roll.
We turned up at the gig, set up the gear and then started our soundcheck. But just one problem. Pete Conway wasn't there. He was my oldest mate and HE WASNT THERE!!!!! I assumed he was late. Craig was panicing. All his family had come down and it would be embarrasing. I assurred them Pete was on his way. But he wasn't. At around nine O'clock the harsh truth dawned. My best mate had let us all down. So I called the band together and we had a pow wow. Craig was really pissed off. This wasn't what he'd signed up to. I said "Look, it won't be perfect, but we know the songs, we can do it without him". So we divided the songs up. Craig sung half and I sung half of them. As we were playing them, the adrenaling kicked in. We actually started to enjoy ourself. The hall was packed and we got an encore. From the Roundhouse to the Harwood Hall for me had been a very long and very difficult journey. When I'd started it, I was terrified of my own shadow, but when we stepped off the stage at the Harwood Hall, I'd proven to myself that I could cope with anything life threw at me. I'd hidden behind Pete Conway for much of the time with the band, but his no show had forced me to man up. I am not a singer, but we'd got through. We agreed that we'd carry on, Craig would sing for the time being until we could find a proper singer.
All of our mates had said it had been a good night and asked when the next one would be. The local paper had turned up to review it. We got a picture and a write up. In truth my biggest problem had been the fact that my confidence had been destroyed at every turn. I think for many dyslexics, being told you are thick, useless and stupid can destroy you. Yet here I was playing to a packed audience in a rock and roll band. I have issues, I have problems, I am still angry, but on that day, I found myself and I knew that despite all of knocks, I can get up and I can do the things in my life I want. By not turning up, Pete let the band down, but he did me a massive favour. He gave me the opportunity to show that I didn't need to hide behind anyone else. It has been suggested that maybe I should do some motivational speaking to dyslexic teenagers. I am seriously considering it. What would I say? Find what you want and go for it. I would pass on the one lesson I learned at school that really mattered. If something is making you angry, don't lash out, deal with it. It can be hard, but you really can do it
For those of you who haven't read my dyslexia blogs before, here is a little preamble and introduction, so you know who I am and what I do and why I write this stuff. For those of you who know the story, skip to the end of the paragraph for todays installment. Let me give you a bit of Background so you know who I am and what I do. I was born in 1962. I didn't start talking until I was 4 years old (at all, not a single word). My parents thought I was deaf. My reading age at eleven was 5. When I was fifteen I started a rock and roll band called the False Dots, the band is still going strong. When I was 16 I started a business called Mill Hill Music Complex (although then it was simply called the studio), a rehearsal studio, as we had nowhere to rehearse. The business has grown into a very successful enterprise, one of Londons biggest and most well respected independent studios. We now have 16 studios and a music shop and also have a photography/video studio and a dance studio. I also have done IT work, mostly on a freelance basis since 1983. In 2012 I also moved into film production, producing two highly acclaimed documentary films, both of which had screenings at the House of Commons. When I was 31, a friend suggested I had a dyslexia test. To my surprise I was told I was moderately dyslexic. This made me interested in the subject. To my amazement, what I have learned over the years is that my lack of educational aptitude, my feelings of anger and injustice and the core of my personality have been formed by the fact I cannot read words in a linear fashion. In 2013, I have set one of my objectives to use this blog to let dyslexics know they are not alone, to suggest that people who think they may be dyslexic to get an assessment and toget people who have dyslexic children or siblings to understand the issues that they face.
By the way, The False Dots are still playing together. Sadly ater 28 years Paul Hircombe passed away. . The band is still going, me on vocals and guitar, Tom Hammond on Trumpet and vocals, Graham Ramsey on Drums, with Fil Ross stepping in on bass. Here is our latest single!
So in Part One of this series I talked about my experiences at Primary School in the late 1960's and early 1970s as a dyslexic. In part 2, I am discussing the period aged 10 to 14, where I applied for and attended Finchley Catholic High School and before I discovered Punk Rock music. This was in many ways the most miserable time of my life. It all started so well. My elder brother Frank had attended Finchley Grammar School, which had morphed into Finchley Catholic High School four years before I started. My parents were always fairly relaxed about my education. Strangely the teachers had advised them that I'd be far better applying for St James Catholic school as I was too thick for Finchley. Despite now being open to all as a comprehensive (my brother had to sit an exam to get in), it still had a good reputation. The boys who were doing O levels at the time were still the Grammar intake. FCHS was an amalgamation of Finchley Grammar School and Challoner School. Challoner was a private school for well off Catholics who failed the Eleven Plus. More about that later.
Anyway, unlike my elder brother, no exam for me. I just had an interview with the headmaster "Pop" Groves. Now for me this was a big deal. I assumed that if I said the wrong thing, that would be me done for. Anyway, off I went for the interview. Pop Groves was a kindly old Priest, who had dedicated his life to education. He seemed like a friendly chap. He remembered my brother, who had been a bit of a star, gone to University and obtained a degree. He asked me to spell Arctic, which miraculously I managed. He complimented me saying "many boys spell it ARTIC". I said "Do you mean like an articulated lorry?". He was even more impressed. The odd thing about my form of dyslexia is that there are certain words I have never had any trouble with. My brain clearly felt the need to distinguish between the North Pole and juggernauts. With that the interview ended, doubtless with Pop Groves thinking that he'd found another budding rocket scientist (my brother designed bits for Space shuttles for a while). Now as I said, my parents were relaxed as to where I would go. We had a whole load of glossy brochures from local schools. I liked the one for Finchley. The reason was quite simple, they said they did Drum lessons and I fancied being a drummer.
Anyway, on the 4th September 1973, I turned up for my first day. I'd earlier mentioned Challoner School. When the two schools amalgamated, Pop Groves, the kindly head of FCHS had been appointed headmaster. Unfortunately, there was another headmaster to accomodate. The former head of Challoner was Mr Daniel Coughlan (AKA Danny). Now he was most certainly not kindly. He was a complete nutcase. He was what one might refer to as Old School. For him, running a school was about maintaining discipline in a climate of fear. Stories abounded about the beatings he'd dished out to various pupils old and new. He used to address all new parents en mass and talk to them like idiots. My father was not well disposed towards Danny Coughlin. He had a ritual when he caned boys. H'ed put his mortarboard and cape on. Then he'd call in his sidekick, Mr Keough, the deputy head to witness the beating.
He was also the RE teacher. He would simply dictate what he wanted us to write and test us on it the following week. Our form teacher for our form - 1B was Mr O'Connell, a slightly deranged geography teacher, who couldn't deal with our class. He quickly acquired the name "Gimpy". Class 1B soon got the reputation as being full of troublemakers. We were not bullies, we were just a class that had no respect for authority and used every opportunity to try and put one over on the system. Wheras other classes had 3-4 troublemakers, we had 3-4 diligent pupils. For some bizarre reason, for our year and our year alone, FCHS decided to allocate the classes alphabetically. Being predominantly Irish Catholic, this resulted in rather a lot of Mick Walsh's and John Ryans in our class, to our endless amusement and the teachers complete consternation.
The first disappointment on joining was to find out that the drum lessons, the only reason I'd chosen the school were a figment of the brochure writers imagination. There was no such thing. When I drew attention to the fact that this was why I'd chosen the school, the Music teacher sarcastically laughed and said "well thats a bit of a shame, isn't it". I've hated him ever since.
None of the teachers in year 1 seemed the least bit interested in teaching us. Mr O'Donovan, the French teacher, spent the lessons telling tall stories about his wartime exploits in France. As we had no interest in French, we'd encourage him, with the end result that at the end of the year, none of us had learned a single word. Our form teacher, Mr O'Connell hated us and as our geography teacher did everything he could to avoid us. We simply used to bang our desk lids when he came in, in the hope that he'd lose the plot and go out again. One day he really lost the plot and punched Nick Walsh, who was sitting in the front row and not banging his desk, in the face. That was the last we saw of Mr O'Connell, although he taught other classes. We saw it as a victory, although Nick Walsh and his parents probably took a different view.
Then there was Mr Linane. He was the history teacher. Like many of the teachers, he took a great delight in humiliating eleven year old boys. In our first lesson, he read the register and made every boy, in turn, reveal what their middle initial was. Mine was "M" for Martin. Not too bad really. It came to one poor unfortunate, who had "R" as his middle name. Mr Linane asked what it was. "R" replied that he'd rather not say. A wicked glint entered Mr Linane's eye. "Is it Richard?" he asked. No Sir, R Replied. "Is it Roger?", he asked. R replied "No Sir". This continued for a couple of minutes, to no avail. In the end, Mr Linane said "What's the matter with you boy, just tell us, or we'll be here all night". At this, R broke down into tears and blubbed "Sir it's Rupert". At this the rest of us collapsed in laughter. Mr Linane wasn't going to let it rest. He asked "Rupert, are you a poof, why are you crying?" and spent the next five minutes taunting the poor chap. Now, those were different times and in FCHS at the time, there was a very homophobic atmosphere. Despite the fact that R was a nice bloke, this episode tarred him with a reputation that doubtless made his schooling awful. Our class used to mercilessly taunt various members. In R's case, he had his own rather derogatory, homophobic song, which got sung every time he entered the classroom, for the next few years.
What didn't help with the air of antagonism and homophobia, were a few decidedly dodgy teachers. One games teacher, who's name escapes me, used to insist on underpants inspections before we did PE. He informed us that wearing underpants under shorts, whilst doing PE was unhealthy. He'd make us all line up and pull our shorts down, to ensure no underpants were being worn. It didn't take us long to clock on to the fact that this wasn't healthy behaviour.
By the end of year 2, several of the class had left for pastures new (although R stuck it out till the bitter end). They'd just had enough of it, although at the time we all were bemused. Our view was that everyone got stick, so they should just get on with it. We hated the teachers and they hated us. At the start of year 2B, we had a new form teacher. Mr Sweeney was a fearsome character. He'd announce his arrival by throwing his brief case through the door, onto the desk. He let it be known that he wasn't going to take any nonsense. He used to throw blackboard rubbers at us and threaten to punch our lights out. In a fair fight, one on one, he'd always win. However there were 38 boys in class 2b, all of whom were dead set on making his life miserable. We assumed that he was made of sterner stuff, but by the end of the year, he'd had enough and asked for another class. This was becoming a pattern. In year 1, our English Teacher was Miss Walsh, a humourless ex nun. She was replaced in year 2 by Mr Katz. Mr was an American hippy. He believed kids should express themselves and tried to be nice to us. He'd say things like "Hey man, what's with all the negativity". We just ran riot. Sadly, in our class, Mr Katz was not a success. Most of the other classes loved him and realised that if they went along with him, the lessons would be fun and they'd learn. For us, we just wanted to get rid of him. When you are educationally challenged with dyslexia, this doesn't make for a good education.
In class 3b, we yet again had a new form teacher. I have no idea why they inflicted us on the lovely Alison MacFarlane, a pretty redhead of Scottish extraction, who seemed far too nice for us lot. We'd moved to the "Middle School" when she took us on. She was a biology teacher and unlike the previous two, she recognised that there was a bit more to form 3b than troublemaking. The sad thing was that whatever she did to try and bring out the best in us, we'd always let her down. She was never flustered. By this time, I was probably in a state of mild depression. I'd disappear from lessons and go and hide in the bushes. She'd come and seek me out and persuade me to go back to lessons. I guess she'd twigged I was unhappy. I am sure most of the class were in some way.
I just found the stress of continually being ridiculed by teachers to be rather tiresome. There was no real happy medium. They were either sadistic bastards who didn't teach you anything or they were too nice so we ran them ragged. By the end of the third year, the whole class was underperforming. Luckily for us, a degree of redemption was on its way. We made our O level and CSE choices and so for all lessons, apart from RE, PE and Games, we were split up as a group. For most of us, this probably saved our education. I chose science subjects, mainly because I liked the science teachers. I also chose building studies, as it meant a day a week out of school, at an external centre, where you didn't have to wear uniform. Miss MacFarlane taught biology and her eventual husband, Mr Shuttler, who was probably the best teacher I ever had, taught me physics. I didn't realise it at the time, but I am sure she put in a good word for me with him.
By the end of the 4th year, my grades had improved, to the point where O level passes seemed a reality. This was the summer of 1977. Little did I know it, but soon my life was to change. As we broke up for the summer of 1977, I was feeling very lonely and isolated. I had mates at school, but few were really close friends. We were like passengers on a trip, stuck together making the best of it. The only thing I really enjoyed was playing and watching football. I wasn't a good player. I've subsequently learned that dyslexics generally have bad co-ordination. Things such as ball skills and dancing are generally very poor. As I was starting to grow, I did however find that size and weight could to some degree compensate, so I decided I was going to concentrate my efforts on being a defender of the hack em down school of thought. My dad had an old set of dumbells, so I also decided to get fit and strong.
Throughout all of this, no one had noticed how bad my use of English was. No one had picked up on the classic dyslexic traits. I now realise that the troublemaking was a classic defence mechanism. I was so alienated to the school establishment that I wanted to fail, just to escape their clutches. What changed me, was the fact that the few good teachers at FCHS, such as Mr Shuttler, would take time and explain things in a manner that was interesting. All of a sudden, I had a degree of clarity. I can remember him talking to me about English. He asked me why I wasn't interested. I said "Because I find it boring". He replied that surely I enjoyed watching films and listening to rock music. I said "Yeah, but whats that got to do with English". He replied that good songs have good lyrics and good films have good stories. He then said that if I wanted to do well at physics, I'd need to get an English O Level. He asked me if I thought I was too thick to get one. I replied that I thought I could if I tried. He then asked me why I wouldn't want to try? I couldn't answer that question. He asked me if I liked my English teacher. I said "No, actually I can't stand her". He laughed and said "She can't stand you either. Who has won if you fail your English O Level?" From that moment, I had no doubt in my mind I'd pass it, no matter what it took (dyslexic or not). When it came down to it, I realised English language was just about trying to learn the rules.
What was interesting was the fact that I realised he'd not lied about my English teacher hating me. As my grades improved, she became more obnoxious. I guess this was what I needed. I probably worked harder for English than any other subject. I even started reading the books we were set. I'd force myself to read them, and studied hard. I soon found that I could analyse them and answer the questions. Lessons became like a battlefield, but I also found that if you do your homework, you will win. A valuable lesson for blogging. The trouble with being dyslexic in the 1970's was that there was never enough time in exams. I'd always run out. The clock would just tick faster for me than everyone else. I've since found that I read at 2/3rds the speed of someone with a normal brain.I could never figure out how all my class mates would finish and I'd still have 2 questions left, regardless of how well I knew the subject. I've heard people saying that it is unfair on "normal" pupils that dyslexics get extra time. To me exams are testing intelligence, not timekeeping. Did it matter how long it took Alan Turing to break Enigma codes? Of course not.
So as we broke up for that heady summer I was in a strange place. I felt cautiously optimisitic about school. Mr Shuttler had convinced me that I could do OK On a personal level I felt a bit cut adrift. I hadn't got into music. I was always the last pick at football. I hadn't discovered girls properly, but I had deep longings, mostly for mate sisters. Sadly I had zero confidence to do anything about it. At that point the school had done a pretty good job of convincing me I was useless. Why would any girl, let alone a pretty one be that interested. As FCHS was a boys school, the opportunities for girls was not exactly great to start with. Despite the efforts of Mr Wynne, the biology teacher to give us some sensible sex education, I think that we were completely clueless compared to todays 14 year olds. Being a Catholic school, even bringing in a Condom was an act of extreme terrorism. I can remember when there was a spate of people bringing in condoms and blowing them up. Mr Coughlan, head of the lower school, informed us it was a mortal sin to possess one. I was a bit naive and so hadn't got a clue what he was on about. I thought the idea of putting a balloon on your willy to catch sperms was absurd and couldn't imagine anyone doing such a thing. That was the great thing about FCHS. They were telling us all these things and none of us had a clue what they were on about half of the time. By drawing attention to it, they simply made us interested and we found the "real story" from boys with older brothers, who were a bit more worldly wise.
As he sometimes did, my Dad gave me some sensible advice. Over a bacon sandwich, one morning when my Mum and sisters were away, he gave me told me. "If you want to get a girlfriend, get a job. Girls are far more interested if you've got a few quid". So I got a job. In fact I got three. I got a paper round, I got a Saturday job at the butchers and I started washing cars for my Dad at his business. As I didn't really have any hobbies at that time, I opened up a post office account and watched the cash build up. So I was in a bit of a strange place. Improving grades, spare cash and at a loose end. and completely miserable. It could only really spell one thing. Trouble. To Be Continued........
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For those of you who haven't read my dyslexia blogs before, here is a little preamble and introduction, so you know who I am and what I do and why I write this stuff. For those of you who know the story, skip to the end of the paragraph for todays installment. Let me give you a bit of Background so you know who I am and what I do. I was born in 1962. I didn't start talking until I was 4 years old (at all, not a single word). My parents thought I was deaf. My reading age at eleven was 5. When I was fifteen I started a rock and roll band called the False Dots, the band is still going strong. When I was 16 I started a business called Mill Hill Music Complex (although then it was simply called the studio), a rehearsal studio, as we had nowhere to rehearse. The business has grown into a very successful enterprise, one of Londons biggest and most well respected independent studios. We now have 16 studios and a music shop and also have a photography/video studio and a dance studio. I also have done IT work, mostly on a freelance basis since 1983. In 2012 I also moved into film production, producing two highly acclaimed documentary films, both of which had screenings at the House of Commons. When I was 31, a friend suggested I had a dyslexia test. To my surprise I was told I was moderately dyslexic. This made me interested in the subject. To my amazement, what I have learned over the years is that my lack of educational aptitude, my feelings of anger and injustice and the core of my personality have been formed by the fact I cannot read words in a linear fashion. In 2013, I have set one of my objectives to use this blog to let dyslexics know they are not alone, to suggest that people who think they may be dyslexic to get an assessment and toget people who have dyslexic children or siblings to understand the issues that they face.
