Rog T's Dyslexia Blog - Who says that your school years are the best years of your life - part 3 - How Music changed my life

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!

Dyslexia Blog - What I told Vanessa Feltz about dyslexia this morning

My schoolwork aged 9

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 instalment. 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 to get people who have dyslexic children or siblings to understand the issues that they face.

If you were listening to Vanessa Feltz at just after 9am this morning you would have heard me chatting to Vanessa about my experiences of living with dyslexia. Click the link and forward to 2.07 - https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p07psr1m

It is very hard to explain to someone who is not dyslexic exactly what it is like. When I listened back, I think I made a reasonable job of getting some of the issues over. What perhaps I didn't properly manage to get across was the fact that for most dyslexics, especially of my generation, dyslexia is the least of your problems. Generally once it is recognised, it can be dealt with. You can be taught strategies to cope, you can get extra time in exams etc. You learn to play to your strengths. The problem for most dyslexics is that it isn't recognised. You just under perform, get labelled thick and don't get help with some very basic things that could help you cope. As you soon realise that people who are less intelligent than you are outperforming you in exams etc, you get frustrated. Often this makes you disruptive at school. This has all sorts of ripple down effects. You develop anger issues, that affect relationships. Humans are a successful species because we are adaptable. Dyslexics who are underperforming at school are no exception. We do what we have to do to get by. For those who get demoralised with reading issues, this can result in severe literacy problems. Without these basic skills, survival in our society often means living on the edge of it. A friend of mine, who developed a severe class A drug habit, and ended up in prison was shocked to find that as someone who could read and write, he was in a minority in prison. In 2012, the following shocking statistic was announced in Parliament.

"The general average in prison-based studies is about 30%, although rates of serious deficit in literacy and numeracy generally reach up to about 60%. According to Ministry ​of Justice figures published earlier this month, we currently have more than 86,000 prisoners, so we can estimate that about 26,000 offenders in UK prisons suffer from some form of dyslexia, but we do not know for certain."

On average, the cost of jailing someone is around £32,000 per year. So the cost of jailing dyslexics in the UK is approx. £832 million. I believe that 90% of that should have been avoided. I see no reason why dyslexics should have a higher crime rate than a non dyslexic person. A government with an ounce of foresight would see these figures and realise the huge potential for saving money, setting aside the fact that it is the right thing to do. The answer is to identify dyslexia early and tailor education to ensure that the outcomes are better. We should also be identifying dyslexics in prison and offering them help with their issues. Help with numeracy and literacy, as well as anger management would make a huge difference to literacy rates. Many dyslexics would do anything to avoid classroom situations. My own experience and the anecdotal experience of dyslexic friends is that we suffer self esteem issues.

The trouble is that people who have no experience of dyslexia do not understand any of this. Many see it as an excuse. A couple of years ago, I was having a conversation with a friend on the subject. He said "it's just an excuse for failure in life". I was (internally) furious. I asked if he thought I was a failure. He replied that he thought there was nothing wrong with me and I just said I was dyslexic for effect. I was almost shocked into silence. How can you argue with that. He said "if you were dyslexic, how come you can write a blog?". I said "do you not know the difference between being dyslexic and illiterate?" Whilst dyslexia can lead to illiteracy, this should never happen. What should happen is that you learn to do it. It might take you longer, it might be a bit harder, but there is no reason why you can't do anything that a non dyslexic can do. When I read a blog or a book, I want to read the content. I don't care how long it took the writer to put it together. If it's interesting I am not too bothered about the spelling and grammar (although I use autocorrect on my blogs most of the time). I don't care if there are out of place apostrophes and lost consonants.  Maybe that's just me.

So am I. Was I well served by my teachers. Click on the picture of my school work, with a nice big tick, from St Vincents, when I was 9 years old. You tell me. When I compared that with my own childrens work at the same age (they are not dyslexic), I was horrified.

I spoke to some dyslexic friends about that conversation. The reaction was shocking. One friend said they'd have punched the lights out of the person who made the statement. Another said that would be the end of the friendship. A third said they simply don't bother discussing their dyslexia with 'normals'.

For me, that is not an option. I have a mission to educate. I am not eloquent or clever enough to always succeed, but I will die trying. My hope is that by talking to Vanessa and writing these blogs, someone, somewhere, who is dyslexic might just feel a bit better about themselves.  A modest ambition, but one that, to me, is worthy. 

Dyslexia Blog - Day by day

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.

So far this blog has largely been about how I coped (or didn't) with dyslexia when growing up. I was chatting with a friend, who asked why I've not really bothered with how I deal with dyslexia as a 52 year old. My initial response was "it's become a non issue for me, so there isn't much to say".  But this isn't 100% true.  At school it was a huge issue because school is all about measuring you against your peers. When your brain is wired so it processes information in a less efficient manner, this can be a rather unpleasant experience. But when you become an adult, things change. Many people say "your schooldays are the best of your life". For me, they were the worst. I vaguely remember my pre school days as being blissful. I remember the joy of the summer holidays, but I have few happy memories of Primary school. Secondary school improved as it went. By the time I finally left Orange Hill Senior High aged 18, I was quite sad to leave. The last year of my A levels was far and away the best year of my education.

I'd already started my studio business then, albiet in a very small way. I started out renting some space from my father, to use as a band rehearsal space. This was initially for my band, The False Dots. As we didn't have the necessary equipment, we came to a deal with the Malone brothers and between us we cobbled together enough gear to have a basic rehearsal room. The deal was that they could use the space and we could use their gear. I then started letting other bands use the space for a small charge. At this time, this was just one of many schemes I had to cobble together enough money to go to gigs and the pub.

It is amazing to think that these humble beginnings grew into Mill Hill Music Complex. As initially the studio was one room and didn't bring in anything like the amount of money necessary to live on, I had to get another career. Despite having A levels in Physics, Biology and Maths (not great grades though), I decided that painting and decorating was the way to go. This allowed me to duck in and duck out as the band required. By the time I was 21, I realised that this was going nowhere. So I did a TOPS course in Computer Operations. TOPS courses were a brainchild of the Thatcher government and were a response to the mass unemployment of the early 1980's.  I was paid £40 a week for eight weeks, to learn the art of operating computers. The college was in Euston. This was the first time I'd come across a privately run educational establishment. The rules were different to school. It was all about making sure the college met the government targets for finding work placements for students. The actual educational element was secondary.  In my mid teens, I'd developed coping mechanisms for dealing with my moderate dyslexia and so found the course easy. I had chosen the course purely because it was the shortest course and promised big bucks. I hadn't even known what a computer operator was when I started the course. When I found out that it was the bloke who spent his life loading paper onto printers, tapes onto tape machines and disc cartridges into disc cartridge readers, I was horrified. Worse still, jobs in computer operations were usually run on rigid shift patterns. This meant that it would massively interfere with the band rehearsal schedule. This was a disaster. As interviews were lined up and pressure was exerted to take anything offered (so the college could meet its targets and get its money), I realised I'd made a horrible mistake. As ever I relied on the one thing which has always seen me through. Good luck.

After attending two disasterous interviews, one with an insurance company and another with an oil company, I was told it was my last chance, when I was sent for an interview at one of the UK's leading software companies. It didn't help my mood that the other two candidates were the star performers on the course. As ever, nursing a big chip on my shoulder, I was convinced I'd been sent as a makeweight. As I turned up for the interview at the swanky office just off Tottenham Court Road, I felt a bit intimidated. There was a rather attractive female on reception who beckoned me to take a seat. I felt defeated before I started. After a few minutes chatting to the receptionist, my classmate emerged with a big grin on his face. With that I was ushered up. My interviewer was a man called Peter Southerby. He had the look of King George V and a rather posh accent. He asked me what I knew about the company. I knew nothing. I replied "Well I was told that its one of the UK's leading software companies, but thats about it". He then asked why I wanted to work in the IT industry. I replied "When I left school I lived in Stockholm for six months, then worked as a painter and decorator to fill in. I thought it was time to get a sensible sort of job and IT seems quite well paid". Peter laughed. He asked "What were you doing in Stockholm?" I replied "I had a Swedish girlfriend, so I thought I'd spend some time with her". He asked "Did you like Stockholm?" I replied "I loved it, made some great friends there. Would have stayed if I could". We chatted for a while about travel. Peter asked me about my A levels. I said "Well I didn't really do as well as I should, I had a brilliant Maths teacher for the first term of A levels, that was why I took maths. Then he left and the school had a succession of rather poor teachers, who just didn't inspire me. In hindsight I spent too much time concentrating on my band". We then spoke about the band. Peter then looked at the clock and said "Oh dear, I had only allocated half an hour for the inteview and you've had forty minutes. Sorry I'll see you out".

As I walked back from Tottenham Court Road to the college at Euston I felt awful. I thought "what a nice bloke, made an effort to humour me". We hadn't talked about IT at all, except for me to establish that I really had no interest in the subject beyond earning some wonga. Why couldn't I just stick to the script? The college taught us what we should and shouldn't say in interviews. They helped us write CV's and told us to bring out the good things. There was me, walking in and telling King George V's cousin how much I loved clubbing in Stockholm with my beautiful Swedish girlfriend. Lord help me.

No sooner had I arrived back to the college, when the PA system summoned me to the careers office. I was expecting to be told I was a useless idiot. I sat down and the careers guy said "You certainly made an impression at that interview". The years of poker taught me to keep a straight face. "They want to offer you a job, starting on Monday, intial salary £6,200 PA". I nearly fell off my chair.

Six months later, I was having a beer with Peter Southerby, we had become friends, when I asked him "Just out of interest, why did you employ me? The other two candidates were the stars on the course and knew far more about IT". Peter's reply surprised me "Yes, but they had no social skills. I wanted someone I could work with. Our firm sends people all over the world and they have to be able to fit in and represent the company well. When you said you'd moved to Sweden at age 18 and made a stack of friends, it was clear you were just the man for the job". What was even better was that the job wasn't a classic computer operations job. The company had a machine they used to develop software on. It needed paper changing, tape backups etc, but this was only 5% of the job. The rest was doing all manner of things which at any other company you'd need years to get into. System configuration, machine room management (overseeing maintenance etc), programming, installation of software packages. In short, it was a highly interesting job, where I could make my own schedule. So long as everything was done,they didn't care how. Not only that, but the firm took on 30 graduates every year, so there was a ready made social circle of people my own age, most of whom were in London and on their own.

I worked for the company for 2 1/2 years. I only left as they were taken over and the new bosses had a graduates only policy for technical staff. Since then I've worked in IT on and off in parallel with running the studios. In the early 1990's I decided to work as an IT contractor, as this was better paid and offered more flexibility. Which brings us to the subject of dyslexia. During my IT career, I realised that technology is a blessing for people with dyslexia. Autocorrect is perhaps the greatest tool. There are many words that I just cannot spell, no matter how hard I try. Autocorrect fixes this. Another blessing is that when you proof read a document and realise you've written nonsense, you can change it without typex or rubbing out. As I have to reread everything, generally this means that unlike my non dyslexic peers, if I write something stupid or ill considered, the fact I have to reread it means that I often have a "think pause". One of the modern curses is the instant reply that causes a huge row. My guess is that dyslexics are less prone to this because rereading tends to make you think twice before firing off angry emails.

Another asset I have is that as I find reading from a script stressful, if I have to give a presentation, I don't write a script. I simply write a whole series of notes which detail the points I have to cover. I also write how long I have to speak for at the bottom. I can waffle so if I don't do this I tend to come unstuck. I would urge any dyslexics who have to deal with public speaking to adopt this strategy. I was speaking to a non dyslexic colleague recently who saw a presentation I had to give. He saw this long stream of words and numbers on a piece of paper and asked what it was. I said "This is my presentation". He was bemused. I explained that if I write a script it is wooden and dull. By just having joggers for the key points, I find I can do a more interesting presentation. A couple of weeks later, he told me he'd tried the technique and found it worked far better. Another thing I try and do is talk to people rather than exchanging endless emails. I find that as reading is not my strong point, I sometimes miss nuances, therefore a conversation often makes more sense. This has the added benefit that a five minute chat will usually resolve issues that seemed implacable previously.

Many of the coping strategies I use for dyslexia actually work well for everyone. Rereading emails, using joggers rather than script and talking to people where possible rather than exchanging emails are all techniques which everyone should consider. I am often surprised that people who are good verbal communicators are dyslexic. When you discuss this with them, you find that at school they were often the shy ones who hid in class. It seems that the communications skills were developed outside of the educational environment. Often the skills are developed as a way of deflecting attention during stressful periods at school. When I was at FCHS, I was labelled a troublemaker because I would usually give teachers a cheeky riposte when they tried to verbally bully me. A typical example was our highly sarcastic history teacher Mr Linane. He asked me if I was practising to be an idiot. I responded by saying "No sir, I just try and model myself on my teachers". The whole class erupted in laughter and I got a slap around the face for being cheeky. But after that Mr Linane chose other people to verbally abuse. Not all teachers resorted to violence though, some enjoyed it and would give as good as they got. Mr Shuttler, my favourite teacher of all, once picked me up on my atire when I entered a lesson "Have you ever considered dressing yourself before you come to school?" I had a shirt haning out and my tie wasn't done up. I responded "With all due respect sir, you are not exactly a style icon, are you" (Mr Shuttler was a beardy with the ambience of a real ale fan). He simply laughed and said "I suppose I should be flattered that you've taken my look and taken it to a new level, but I don't think you've really understood the style properly, so now sit down". I saw him recently at a school reunion and he told me that he always enjoyed the banter and felt if you couldn't give as good as you got, you were probably in the wrong job.

Mr Shuttler was a good example of what a teacher should be. He never needed to be intimidating or violent. He engaged students and made the subject interesting. He would spend time with pupils if he fel they'd benefit and he'd try and bring the subject to life. I would not have a physics A level without his influence. I have no idea whether he had an inkling I was dyslexic, but he certainly gave me and all of my classmates the time and support we needed in lessons to excel. The one thing I got from him was that if you have a good teacher, dyslexia can be overcome. That is why I have respect for the man.

Dyslexia throws up many challenges in everyday life. I cannot fill in a form to save my life. My wife does all of these. If she doesn't I tend to tick the boxes that say I'm female or that I only have one leg. Sometimes this has caused all manner of issues. The most serious example was when I was 25 and I misread the usage rules on a bottle of antibiotics. This resulted in me nearly dying and spending months in hospital and a medical condition that haunts me to this day. As a result I have learned to reread the dosage instruction numerous times as a result and in this information age, always read all of the contraindications of medicins before I take them. This has prevented me drom taking highly unsuitable prescribed medicins on three occasions, so there is a high degree of swings and roundabouts with this.

Dyslexia Blog - Is my fear of socialising in large groups of people a dyslexic trait?

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.


Today I had a eureka! moment. Have you ever suddenly realised that a huge part of your character and how people perceive you  is not how you perceive yourself? Have you ever suddenly realised that in fact you are not really seen by others as you actually feel. When you realise this have you ever heard a penny drop and worked out why?


Well today was one of those moments. My wife casually mentioned that one of the Mill Hill Music Festival committee members had commented to her that I was a miserable sod and I never smiled. I am sure that those weren't the exact words, but that is pretty much the jist of it. It seems they weren't being critical, just puzzled as to why I am not the life and soul of the party. At first I was taken aback. Am I really so grumpy and miserable? Part of the reason could be that when I do something like the festival, I see it as work and so I like to focus. But there is more to it. If you meet me 1 to 1 and have a chat with me, you'd probably conclude I am quite a cheerful soul. But I find that as soon as there are more than 3-4 people in a group, my brain shuts down and I become socially inept. I have a mechanism for dealing with this in most situations. At dinner parties I sit at the end of the table, so I only ever have to engage with 2 or 3 people, which is quite managable. But in some scenarios, I am forced to be in social situations, where there are 5 or 6 or even more people all talking at once. I find that this overloads my brain. By the time I've thought of a witty riposte, the conversation has moved on. The easiest way to manage this is to ensure that you avoid these situations, but it isn't always possible and it is always uncomfortable. I realised long ago that my brain works at 2/3rds the speed of "normal" brains for tasks like reading, but it hadn't occurred to me before that this may be also true for talking to people. In a 1 to 1 conversation, it isn't noticable, but in a large group my brain is swamped beyond it's capacity.


Over the years quite a few female friends have told me that for a bloke I'm quite a good listener. It has struck me that this may just be because my brain doesn't process the information quick enough to get a response out very often. I don't consider myself thick, so I do get a response out in the end and when it has been thought about, it is usually quite a sensible response, but in a large crowd this facility shuts down.


I was wondering if there are any other dyslexics out there who have similar issues and if so, is there a strategy beyond hiding? I'd be intrigued.

Rog T's Dyslexia blog - Let Down

Ever had that horrible feeling where you a realise that you've been badly let down by people who you trusted and who you believed were on your side? I had this horrible realisation this week. It came in the most mundane of ways. My son was moving bedroom and we were having a tidy up. I came across an old school exercise book from when I was none years old. Have a look at this.

Have a quick read through this. What do you notice. Would you say that it was pretty clear I was dyslexic? It is crystal clear to me. Notice the big red tick at the bottom of the right hand page. This means that someone, a person in a position of trust, being paid a decent salary, thought this was OK. Someone who should have been helping and advising me, bringing me up to standard and trying to educate me, had thought this piece of work was Ok. And because they thought it was OK, I thought it was OK. I was in my thirties when I realised I was dyslexic. No one had bothered to tell me. No one had said "Listen Roger, you have a problem with your reading and writing and this is because you are dyslexic".  So I thought I was just fine. I thought Black was spelt as "Blak" and reflection was spelt "refleck shon"

In short I feel badly let down and actually quite angry. My teachers were remiss and lazy, they clearly couldn't be bothered to do their job. Maybe they thought I was beyond help. Maybe they thought I was just destined to grow up to a life of digging holes in the road, where reading and writing would not be a necessary skill. They didn't tell my parents that I was dyslexic, they told them I was thick and stupid, they told them that I was a dunce and a troublemaker. The truth is that they didn't bother to look for a reason that is so obvious that anyone with or without a professional qualification should see it.

The sad truth is that there are plenty of children up and down the country, aged nine, who will be handing in homework like this and they won't be getting help with their dyslexia. There are even people who refuse to acknowledge that dyslexia is a problem.

I have an old fashioned view of what teachers should do. I believe they should be there to make children better. They should never simply tick sub standard work. If a child needs extra help, they should ensure they get it. They shouldn't assume that the kid is thick and so doesn't warrant care and attention. I am not an educator, I don't know how you get a 9 year old who thinks "orang is a lovly froot" is an acceptable sentence in a homework exercise to do better. What I do know is that it will never improve if it is simply ticked and little Rog gets a pat on the head.

For reasons I don't quite understand, I was able to turn my educational performance around. I got 9 O levels and three A levels. I still have trouble spelling, but by reading things back and using spell checkers etc, I can pretend I am as good at writing as the next guy. I suppose one of the reasons I take such delight in writing this blog and finding I've had over a million page views is because I had years of being told I was useless. Don't get me wrong, I had some good teachers over the years. I had one or two outstanding ones. I would not have an A Level in Physics if it wasn't for the inspirational John Shuttler at FCHS. The sad truth is that he was the exception rather than the norm. I suspect that many of the best teachers take the Kings Shilling and take cushy jobs at private schools teaching well behaved kids. They say that the prisons are full of dyslexics. I read somewhere that over 50% of the prison population have issues reading and writing. If you can't function in society, is it any surprise that you step outside the rules.

I believe that if the issues of dyslexia and other related learning difficulties were properly addressed, our society would be fairer and less violent. In the long run it would save billions. It is clear to me that every child has a right to a proper education. It is also clear to me that for some of the time, I was deprived of. Given that people were paid to do a job, in educating me, I feel like I've been robbed. No one said to my parents "We aren't bothering to teach Roger properly, here have some tax back".

I don't believe anyone should be put in the dustbin. Least of all me. I've been let down but that is history. Surely we all have a responsibilty to make sure no one else is let down in future.

Dyslexia Blog - The moment you know that things will be alright

For those of you who have read my dyslexia blogs before, you may wish to skip this paragraph as it is just the background. If you 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.

I sometimes read these dyslexia blogs and think that people who have never met me must think I am a quivering wreck, who has had a terrible life. In actual fact, nothing could be further from the truth. It has mostly been a scream. Throughout all of the difficulties, I have always been able to retreat into a fantasy world and pretend things were better. I've always had a great set of friends, who have been around when things have been difficult. I doubt any of them have ever even realised it, but they have kept me going. At primary school, when I was subject to all manner of daily trials and humiliations, there was always the promise of playtime, or the bell at the end of day. I was educated at St Vincents Primary School on the Ridgeway. I used to walk home past a little shop, by the Angel pond, called Lambs. It was run by a little old lady and they used to sell such delicacies as sugar mice and lucky bags. No matter how bad things were, I could always look forward to diving into Lambs to buy a treat with my friends as we walked home. In those days, we were given bus fare, but used to walk and spend this on sweets. Lambs was a tiny shop with a very old fashioned range. Some of my friends used to complain about the lack of choice and one or two were occasionally cheeky to the old dear who ran it. She would simply ban anyone who upset her, until such time as they issues a grovelling apology. I learned young that you never upset such people. I've always treated everyone who had control of my next meal with utmost respect. 

As we made our way home, all memories of the days schooling and humiliations were erased. Being the youngest of six children, there was never any pressure to do any schoolwork and no expectation of academic achievement. Over the last few years, since I've thought more deeply about the subject, I have wondered what it would have been like if I'd been the only child of aspirational parents who expected me to become a genius. What must it be like to have pressure of expectations? I can imagine that would be really hellish. For me, each poor school report was met with a shrug from my parents. My father would become frustrated because he thought I didn't listen to anyone. In truth, I tried, but often found I'd instantly forget information. Even worse was peoples names. Once I know someone, I am fine, but if I am introduced to a group of people, I've forgotten the first ones name by the time I've been introduced to the second one (Oddly the only time this doesn't seem to apply with attractive women, never quite figured out why). 

I was asked recently when I realised that "things were OK". The answer for me was quite a specific one. When I was 20, I had reached a bit of an impass in my life. I was completely skint and I had met a girl who I wanted to have a serious relationship with. She had a job and was quite happy to subsidise a poor musician like me, but that wasn't really where I wanted to be, meeting in the pub and drinking her wages. Fate intervened. I was in the habit of getting temporary work from the Golders Green Job Centre. One day, I realised that there was a very attractive girl working on the training desk. Despite my relationship status, I suddenly found I had become very interested in what training was on offer. To my eternal shame, I was in the habit of asking about training and then suggesting that we carried on the discussion in the pub after work. The young lady in question always informed me that she only went out with blokes who had a proper job and that she had expensive tastes. This didn't deter me, it became a challenge. In the end, she had enough and said "Right, I'm booking you in for an interview for an IT course". She then said "Come back when you are earning lots of money". So I ended up at Compucentres in Euston to be interviewed for a 1 year course in Computer programming. It was a three part test. A maths test. Easy peasy. A science test. Easy peasy. Then a logic test. I'd never seen one of these before and it completely threw me. A down side of dyslexia is that words I don't recognise are completely meaningless, so I had no idea at all what it was on about. Whilst I achieved 100% on the numeracy test and 90% on the science test, I got a big fat zero on the logic test. We had to come back a week later for an interview. For the test, I'd turned up in a suit. Everyone else in the room was uber casual. I felt that I stuck out like a sore thumb.

I turned up for the interview in rather more casual attire. The interviewer pulled me up on this "You wore a suit for the test, why are you not dressed smartly?" I replied that no one else had worn a suit, so I assumed the college was casual. He sniffily asked whether I always followed the crowd. He then gave me my marks. The bad news was that I'd got zero on the logic test, The worst score ever (jointly no doubt). I wasn't cut out to be a computer programmer. I was gutted. What a waste of time. I'd come all the way into town, to be told that. Then he said "We can however offer you a place on the Computer Operators TOPS course". TOPS was Margaret Thatchers answer to the IT skills crisis. You got £40 a week and work related training. Rather embarrassingly, I didn't know the difference between a computer programmer and an operator. So I asked the only question which I could think of "Who earns more, operators or programmers?" the answer temporarily stumped the interviewer. "Well, erm they both earn about the same, but programming is more interesting". I then asked "How long is the operators course? "It's 8 weeks". So iI then said "So I can spend a year studying programming, or a two months studying operating to earn the same amount of cash?". The interviewer replied "Yes". So I said "Sign me up for the Operators course". 

Three weeks later, I started. I worked as hard as I could and got decent marks, despite the fact that the subject was about as interesting as watching paint dry. The course covered punched cards, punched tape, barrel printers and all manner of other long forgotten aspects of computing. Most of it was out of date then.  After six weeks, we were told that the college would try and find us work assignments. By this time I was dreading it. I had twigged that although being a computer operator was well paid, it was generally shift work and very boring. As I was in a band, I was starting to dread this. Much pressure was put on us to take any job we were offered. This was how the college received its funding, so they simply wanted to get us a job and take the cash. As ever with dyslexia, all manner of problems with the work manifested themselves, but the course was relatively easy and I got good grades. Sadly for me, there were a couple of guys who did far better. They were guys who were, for want of a better word, nerdy. They loved the idea of working changing boxes of paper on printers and putting tapes on tapedrives. I was panicking, knowing that things like selecting a tape with a meaningless number from a large stock, would be a minefield for me.

We got sent to the first interview. This was as a trainee operator at a large insurance company. A Miss Marple type showed me around. When she asked if I had any questions, I asked what the wages were. She replied disdainfully "We don't discuss such things. It is a chance to work for a well respected company". I asked again. The answer shocked me. It would be less than I'd been earning as a jobbing painter and decorator. This would be reviewed after 2 years. I was horrified. Miss Marple was pretty horrified at me. She complained to the college that all I'd asked about was money. The second job was with a large oil company. This dripped money. I thought that this could be quite good, but the man who interviewed me was one of the most obnoxious people I'd ever met. Much as I'd have liked the bucks, he took an instant dislike to me and it was clear after 2 minutes that he was simply going through the motions. When I returned, I was informed that I'd not impressed him. It turned out his name was Jeff, but I'd kept calling him Dave. I was informed that if I had another bad interview, they'd give up on me.Oddly, despite the college making their money finding people jobs, they didn't actually tell you how to conduct an interview. 

A couple of days later, the third job came up. I was told that this was a "bit of a strange job". It was with a big software house. I was told that it wasn't a proper computer operators job and that the prospects may not be as good as with an oil company or am insurance company. I asked what a software house did. I was told that they wrote programs for big companies. I asked what the job was. They said it was unclear. They sent me along with the two nerds. I went last. I met one nerd walking back from the interview. I asked "How did it go?" He was really excited "I told them all about how I had written a program for my Sinclair Spectrum". I was worried. Then as I was ushered up, I saw nerd number 2. He was grinning from ear to ear. Here I was, never looked at a computer, going for a job with a company that writes software with two nerds who had been locked in their bedrooms for the last ten years with their Sinclair Spectrums. I'd given up before I entered the door. The person who interviewed me was called "Peter". He was rather posh. He reminded me of Prince Michael of Kent. Aristocratic demeanour, very well spoken.

Realising I couldn't out nerd the nerds, I decided to be honest. Peter asked why I wanted to work with the company. I replied that I wanted a job that was interesting and well paid. He laughed. He asked why I'd decided to do the Operations course, rather than the Programming course. I said that the programming course was a year long. I thought that as the operators course was only eight weeks, I would find out much more quickly whether the industry was for me. Peter then asked the question I'd been dreading. "So do you find computer operations interesting?" He fixed me with his steely blue eyes. I realised that he was a wily old fox and bullshitting was out of the question. "No, not in the least bit. I just thought it would be a way into the industry". He roared up laughing. He then said "What would be your perfect job?" I replied "Teaching guitar to Aboriginals in the outback of Australia". Again he roared up laughing. Realising Peter thought I was an idiot, I added "I don't suppose too many people who work here say that at their interviews". Peter replied "You may be surprised". I realised that he was a decent sort of chap and he was doing his best to be friendly, knowing he was interviewing someone totally unfit for the job. We ended up chatting for half an hour. He told me he'd been working for the company in Nigeria at a Shell Oil site before taking his current job. I mentioned that I'd been living in Stockholm and I loved travel. He said "That's interesting, Svenska Handlesbanken our one of our biggest customers" I said "I've got an account with them, I think it has three Krona's in". We shook hands and off I went on my way. I realised that in the whole 30 mins, we hadn't spoken about the job once. He hadn't even bothered to explain what it was. I was profoundly depressed.

One aspect of my dyslexia was that I was used to people in authority treating me like an idiot. I sometimes wondered how people could tell just how stupid I was? About ten minutes after I arived back at the college, there was a "bing bong Roger Tichborne to the careers office" on the college PA. Off I went. I expected to be turfed out. I was sat down and told "They liked you and want you to start on Friday week". I was amazed. I could harldly conceal my disbelief. Then I twigged "On a Friday, why on a Friday?". They replied "We don't know, people usually start on a Monday".

So on the Friday I turned up. I was met by "Neil" who was leaving the company and who's job I was taking. Neil was in the TA and was very keen on telling me about how he could survive on Dartmoor with only his bare hands to feed him. I thought "Oh Dear". At about 11.45 Neil disappeared. Larry came over. Larry introduced himself as the manager of "the team". He invited me to come with the team for a curry. That sounded like a good idea. After the curry, the team went to the pub and got bladdered. I joined them. I arrived back at the office to find Neil looking at me like a piece of dirt "Where have you been?" I informed him that Larry had invited me to "the pub with the team". Neil informed me that I didn't work for Larry and that Peter would be disgusted. I felt ashamed. One day in and I'd disgraced myself. I'd got lucky and got a good job for a good firm and could manage a day without being a disgrace! Neil stormed off home in disgust. I sat staring at the wall forlornly for an hour. Then Larry came up again. "A few of the team are going to the pub, for a beer, do you fancy coming?". What was there to lose? As I chatted to Larry, I found out he was a jazz Drummer. I ended up getting completely hammered. How I arrived home, I don't know. On Saturday, in the cold light of day, I realised what an idiot I had been. I fully expected to get the sack on Monday morning. I almost considered not turning up.

On Monday, Peter, who had been off on Friday came down to see me. There was a touch of frostyness between Peter and Neil. Peter asked Neil what he'd shown me on Friday. He replied that I'd spent the day in the pub with Larry. Peter asked "Why didn't you take him? what were you doing". Neil replied that he'd had to sort out some TA business. Peter said "Well make sure you show him today". Sadly Neil wasn't particularly interested. After a couple of days, I had a word with Larry and asked what I should be doing. Larry got one of the other guys to explain. At the end of the week, Neil departed. I was on my own. The firm had a maintenance man called Ted, who had a small office (more like a broom cupboard) at the bottom of the building. We'd have a lengthy tea break every day. I was told I had to do Teds job when he wasn't around. My other job was to "keep Larrys team happy". Larry was very laid back, the team went for a curry every Friday and beers 2-3 nights a week. I soon got the hang of the jobs Larrys team needed. After about six months, Peter called me up to his office and offered me a beer. "How are you settling in". I said "It's really nice here". Peter said "Everyone is really pleased with how you are doing, use the time wisely to learn as much as you can about Software and the business". I got sent on courses and got to know my way around the systems the company sold. A while after, I was having a beer with Peter when I asked a question that had been bothering me since day 1. I said "Why on earth did you offer me the job, when the other 2 guys knew so much more about computers?" Peter replied that the company were not interested what you did in your bedroom. They wanted people who were intelligent and could work as a team. I then asked about what he thought of me getting bladdered with Larry on the first day. He replied that Larrys team was one of the best and that Larry had wanted to make sure I fitted in with everyone. He said I'd passed with flying colours He explained that Larrys team often had to deliver projects in difficult conditions under pressure. He had built a team where people supported each other and got the work done.

Up until that conversation, I'd not really understood anything about how the world really worked or how important being part of a team was. I realised that in Larrys team, everyone looked forward to going to work and even team meetings were fun. Everyone pulled in the same direction and people worked extremely hard and played hard. All they expected me to do was to do my job as well as I possibly could and help everyone else do their job. We all got on with it and got on with each other. Much to my amazement, I found that I had a position of responsibilty in a great firm. I was getting great money and they were flexible about my taking days off with the band. If I had gigs on Friday and Saturday, I'd just go in on Sunday and catch up. at the time I didn't know I was dyslexic. What I did know was that for the first time in my life, I was being judged on what I was capable of doing, not what I was incapable of doing. Can you imagine how it felt? Through my association with the company, I worked on some really high profile projects. I was even invited to a party to celebrate the opening of the Thames Barrier. Much to my parents amazement, within a couple of years, I'd gone from being a deadbeat layabout to someone who they were proud of.

Shortly before my Father had a heart attack and died in January1987, we went for a beer and a game of snooker at Mill Hill Services club. It was the last time we ever met. We had a great evening. At the end of it, we came home and had a few Scotches. He told me that he'd been scared to death that I'd never get a job, never settle down and never do anything with my life. He said that I used to wind up him up so much with my attitude and behaviour that he found it hard to even speak to me. He said he couldn't figure out how I could have changed so much in such a short time. I confessed that I really didn't know the answer, but that it was probably something to do with not worrying about what people thought of me so much.

I guess that was the first time I really believed that things would work out Ok for me.

Dyslexia and Christmas

For those of you who have read my dyslexia blogs before, you may wish to skip this paragraph as it is just the background. If you 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.

I guess that Christmas is a great time of year for Children everywhere. When I was but a wee nipper, I used to love it. I can remember raucous family dinners in the Tichborne household. We'd awake at 4am to check our stockings. I guess things were simpler then. We'd get a couple of quality street choccies, a tangerine, a few small presents and a big present. We'd write Xmas lists, which we'd burn on the fire and send up to Father Christmas. My choices were usually things like a train set, an action man or a Corgi toy, usually the latest Thunderbird or one of the machines from UFO. It was great. Then as I grew up Christmas became more serious. I guess the worst Christmas was when I was around 12. My parents felt I was too old for toys. It was a right of passage in our house that at a certain point you stopped getting toys and started to get clothes and books. Now I wasn't into clothes and being dyslexic I could read properly.

My Mum took this into account, so got me things she felt would interest me, such as the Manchester City Yearbook or the Shoot Annual. She figured that if I had something I liked, I'd at least have a crack at it. She'd say "What book would you like for Christmas?" I'd reply "Comics". She'd say "You're too old for them". I then realised what the game was. I'd ask for things which were vaguely educational, such as Chemistry sets. All I wanted to do was to use the set to make explosives. I must confess that my Dad was also fairly fed up as that was what he was hoping to do as well. Instead you got Copper Sulphate and were able to make nails look like copper. My Dad, being quite kind in that respect, realised my disappointment and took me to his workshop for a quick crash course in making expolsives. Having assembled several prototype bombs, we proceded to a piece of wasteland at the back of his workshop and let them off. It was one of the best days of my life. My father was raised in the outback of Australia and worked on goldfields. Handling things such as nitroglycerene and dynamite were part of daily life. Sadly though, reading and following instructions were not my strong point, so my bomb making career never flourished, my attempts always seem to go wrong (thankfully). I was thinking about my early Christmas experiences and I was wondering how I would have approached Christmas if I was the parent of a dyslexic child. Happily my three do not have the condition.

Firstly, I guess that however much fun it was, I wouldn't give them lessons in bomb making! The Chemistry set was also a bit frustrating because I couldn't get on with the instructions. Anything which has overly technical reading requirements is not great for a dyslexic youth. Needing help only reinforces the frustration and the sense of uselessness. 

The thing which transformed my life was music. I would always encourage dyslexics to try music. A Ukulele is a good way in to playing as it is simple and you can play along on your own. It is easy to pick out simple melodies and also to play chords as a background. 

Another thing which I got into was photography. My folks bought me a cheap instamatic camera and I went around taking all manner of odd pictures of Mill Hill. I still do, many of them I've posted here on the blog. Whilst most people liked taking snaps of their friends, I hated pictures with people in them. My folks would laugh and say "what is that supposed to be?". It is something I never really took further, but would have liked to.

I also loved games. We'd play cards at Christmas and other board games. I was quite good at reading other people, but lousy at counting cards, which my brothers both excelled at. I learned to read their ticks and also to give misleading signs myself. As for board games, I loved games like monopoly and risk. These games help you devise strategy. Many families seem to have lost the art of playing board games. I would suggest that they are great for dyslexics. 

Another thing which I got into then was gardening. My sister Cath used to buy me seeds and plants. I would grow all manner of things. I still have a couple of trees in the garden that I planted when I was twelve (I bought my folks house from them in 1987). I really got into gardening and worked for a landscape gardening firm for a while when I left school. I loved being out in the open. 

Another thing I loved was cooking. My mum would follow recipes, but my Dad always simply cooked by intuition and taste. If he cooked a bacon sarnie, he'd never simply have bacon, he'd always put some tomatoes and mushrooms with it. His omelettes were legendary and I watched and cook a pretty good one myself. He said that if you could cook, you could live like a king. He explained the importance of seasonings and why certain foods worked well with other foods. My mum noting my interest, bought me cookbooks, but the instructions often baffled me. Maybe one day I will make a cooking video for dyslexics. I believe that if you understand the taste of food and why it tastes good or bad, you can cook. I love cooking Xmas dinner.

The last thing in my list is drawing and painting. I've always enjoyed it, although I am truly useless. It is something that you can enjoy. My mother started painting in her 60's and developed a great love of it going on courses in France. It is something I will do if ever I get to retire. For the modern day generation computers open up other forms of art such as video making, which are often easy and intuitive. 

So anyway, my advice is that if you are giving presents to a dyslexic youngster, ask what they want. If you see that there are hidden issues such as difficult and baffling instructions, then discuss this. I personally would steer away from anything overly educational at Xmas. For me this was always a source of disappointment . For many dyslexic children, especially those in their early teens, Xmas is a break from school and is a big highlight of the year. Make it special. We all need to enjoy ourselves sometimes and not be vividly reminded of our big failings as human beings.