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No desire for any reunions
I AM many things, but I’m not a twit. Well, at least not in the sense of being a twitter user.
Nor am I texter, a Facebook fan or Friends Reunited fiend.
Indeed, I can’t imagine anything worse than trying to re-visit one’s schooldays.
Mention of which reminds me of an incident recently when a guy headed purposefully towards me when I was visiting my old home town.
He squinted at me for several seconds before declaring: “I know you. You’re Allan Whatsisname. We went to school together.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “I never went to school with a bald, fat man.” I’m also reminded of an incident a few years ago when I accompanied a friend to a school reunion in the Dales.
I’d never attended this school but was accosted by two former pupils and a teacher who were convinced I was George somebody who’d emigrated to Australia.
It might seem strange, but during my schooldays I admired teachers more than fellow school kids.
For example, the enthusiastic English teacher who encouraged me to write and the science teacher who smoked a pipe in class.
Their influence obviously worked because I enjoy writing for a living and smoke a pipe for pleasure.
But I digress. Although I’ve not mastered tweeting, texting or facebooking, I love reading my emails, especially the round robin ones regularly passed on to me by a friend.
They’re always funny, often thought-provoking and sometimes very rude. The latest involved amazingly apt anagrams, a few of which I’m happy to share with you.
Presbyterian - best in prayer; astronomer - moon starer; desperation - a rope ends it; the eyes - they see; the Morse code - here come dots; dormitory - dirty room; slot machines - cash lost in me; election results - lies, let’s recount; decimal point - I’m a dot in place; eleven plus two - twelve plus one; mother-in-law - woman Hitler.
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