another skool memory was cross country running, a terrible sport that was inflicted upon us kids however i took it very personally as we were forced to run in the most outrageous conditions, heavy rain, sleet, snow and blizzards while the teacher followed us in their car, yelling out, 'run faster you lazy bastard mission.'
in the end i decided with stuart we would just run away, up the heath to the cake shop where we would buy old cakes and meet two girls from the private girls skool and smoke a joint eat cake, much better than running around in the rain.
eventually we would walk back and either stuart or i would pretend we had hurt our ankle or got lost but one day the teacher caught us and made us run around a field in circles until we collapsed.
most of the teachers hated me, except my english teacher who said i was the best pupil in the class and gave me a copy of 'catcher in the rye' he encouraged me to write and offered to get my essays and stories published but the next week he was beaten up very badly by a pupil and left.
my class was perhaps one of the worst classes in the skools history, very violent, aggressive and i think potential criminals, the year below was the opposite. i hung out with the year below more, that's how i knew andy ridgly and george micheal. although andy ridgly and i did enjoy going to skool tripping on lsd, i recall once we did an art exam under the influence of very powerful lsd. actually i passed that exam with a grade B so there you go.
i left skool with 2 A levels in english and art
and 5 O levels in biology, politics, economics, english and art.
it surprised everyone including myself, although i never even bothered collecting the certificates.
the years i was finishing skool we had this class where we would learn how to sign on the dole, we were given lessons in how to apply for unemployment benefit, it was during the middle of thatchers years and there was a lot of issues, one being the war in northern island. like all the kids i had to attend the careers guidance officers office.
i rocked up without a clue as to what i wanted to do but i knew it was something to do with writing, the idea of travelling the world, living in exotic countries smoking opium and banging out wild stories really appealed to me, although now i'd probably just be happy being in sydney, however when i went into the office the career guidance councillor asked me what i wanted to be.
'a writer.' i said looking around his office at all the pictures of tanks an aircraft.
'you can't be a writer what else.'
'i want to write, that's it.'
'well have you ever thought of joining the army?'
'no.'
he pushed some papers towards me and started talking about the military life, about how a strapping young man like me would benefit from the army experience.
i left the office with the papers and a few days later found out that no matter what people had answered when they went in the office, even if they said, 'shop assistant, film director, porn actor, supermodel, las vegas lounge singer,' they were all given the paper work to sign up. most of them did, and they were sent to northern island.
at some point we all had to complete a weeks work experience, since my only experience of work so far was a paper round where i was chased by vicious swans or geese and working in a sweet shop at weekends where i gave away sweets to all the little kids who came in if i liked them i had no real idea of what experience i would like fearing they would send me to the army, but i persisted with requesting i was a writer at heart and even said i would like to be a journalist.
to my surprise the local paper employed me for a week, and i hung out with their team of journalists. of course you have to start being some kind of office boy and work your way up so my role changed every day, getting an experience of what it was like to work in a newspaper environment. i particularly enjoyed the long lunches at the pub. on my last day they sent me with the photographer to photograph the local netball teams.
now this was a defining moment. i hung out all day with these netball players who all looked awesome for their photograph and everyone knows girls love having their picture taken so there i was a 16 year old hanging out with a bunch of girls in short skirts, wow i'd discovered what i wanted to do with my life.

university- i studied photography, i had great lectures, and became obsessed with the idea of photojournalism, a marriage of all my desires but specifically a war correspondent. i had specialised in studying the war correspondents of magnum and found their work and their ideas brilliantly close to the things i felt passionate about. they mixed everything together, writing, photography and danger. some of those pics were so artistic and beautiful, some shocking and some just plain tragic.
anyway as part of my course i had to attend lectures on microfilm held by a nerdy middle aged indian guy called mr patel.
i went to a few classes then started skipping to make out with sally in the darkroom. one day mr patel saw me having lunch and told me i must attend the next class where he gave a lecture to us, apparently i was not alone in skipping his classes.
i recall how he stood before us and gave this talk about the future of society and how micro film would revolutionise the way we live. he went on about it's million and one uses and why we should attend the class. obviously he was chasing a fading star, computers made microfilm obsolete.