Hedgehog vs. India

Do people remember pottery in school? I am quite sure in the UK many of us do. As well as woodwork, metalwork, sewing, home economics, it was our first attempt to make something and take it home, proud as Larry, or Ian. 

After failing, disastrously at all other ‘handicrafts’ pottery was my last chance. To be fair I was in a town with Rolls Royce, therefore the other kids were really handy, ok maybe not sewing, but handy for sure. That said, I do remember my school mate crafting a beautiful hedgehog pin cushion in  “Needlework”.

Anyway, I was determined to make a clay animal. And hedgehog, with spines supporting a growing number of pens and pencils, seemed like a good idea. Did I steal the idea from Needlework or was being creative? dunno. I do like to think I have some creativity, to compensate for the lack of hand making skills. I imagined a beautiful, cute, heavy, 3D animal pencil case. 

Apart from the moulding, design and baking, as I kept calling it,  one lesson repeatedly beaten, like the clay, into us, was one had to massage, mould, the clay so that when ‘baked’, the aforementioned hedgie contained no holes. Just like the real thing to be fair. We we warned, holes would expand in the heat (or kiln), one would have a suicidal hedgehog and no pen nor pencil holder would emerge. Only shrapnel.

OK, OK, OK, we get it.

Well, 3 hedgehogs learning, I was sort of learning (they died instantly don’t worry). 

I was sure #4 was going to be fine and I had learned, and sweared and promosed #4 would be lucky, or indeed, “well crafted”.

So far, so good. Nothing more to read here.

Except.

It took me so long that my hedgehog, god I wished I’d given him/her a name. That was creation, which was getting pretty good was coming into time with the other people wanting kiln time. 

That included the senior students, who were good, and I remember one making the Red Fort from Agra (close cousin of the Taj Mahal). Of course the clay and red fort were a good design choice, says, Mr. Hedgehog man. I do remember pottery classes at the Red Fort.

I have to admit The (yes) ‘the’ Red Fort was spectacular, lovely walls, complete and partly ruinous, in a lovely quadrangle, glazed, just perfect.

Since the no. of baking sessions was limited, takes time for a kilm or warm and cool you know, see I am a semi-expert now. By begging, showing how much time I had spent ‘massaging’ hedgie there were no holes, impossible. I didn’t really think of mentioned hedgies 1,2 or 3, those are just ‘details’ (literally).

Anyway, My fancy Indian Red Fort agreed,  after begging the teacher who I think wanted shut (rid of me) hedgie #4 and the Red Fort went into ‘baking’.

I was pretty confident I’d be taking home of the world’s best, it was #4 to be fair pencil and pen holder.  I remember telling fancy pottery man making spines was much harder than some Indian walls. Who wants to see those old crumbly buildings anyway. 

Well, 25 minutes in, there was a massive BOOM! and I was faster than a rat up a drainpipe out of the pottery room.  

I distinctly heard “MAAAARRRRRRRSSSSSHHHHHH!” whilst accelerating out of the room.

Alas little legs only take one so fast, so far. If one imagines Benny Hill with little Ian, very angry potterer and confused teacher running, and to be fair to me, some good swerves. 

So the disgruntled fancy red fort man caught me and was about to decapitate me (probably like the hedgie) and the teacher caught us both. So there were retributions, explanations, exclamations, autopsy appeals. 

Then the thought occured to me, there is an assumption here hedgie killed Fort, but it is conceivable that Ford murdered, yes murdered Hedgie #4? 

Spoilsport teach did point out the previous hedgies had gone to the cemetry in the sky, and the probability of a clay mass is more likely to contain un-removed holes. But I think that was just being picky & without evidence.

Ally McBeal eat your heart out.

Seriously don’t we have to consider both scenarios? (I didn’t really want to suggest both exploded).  

I remember becoming quite agitated of the possible injustice and feeling sorry for hedgie #4. 

So, an investigation ensued. 

On opening the kilm, it was carnage. and I saw hedgie was pretty much dust.  

But a thought did occur to me, that the fragmented Fort actually looked more authentic. I remember whispering to the teacher and he kindly suggested i don’t mention it to the crying senior student.

I remember my mother asking about the hedgehog as I was hours late, and saying “don’t you want a pin cushion instead?”

Beer on train (Categegories: UK, Travel, close shave)

After University I had a decision to make.  Or the markers of my degree. Should they (the graders) be kind, I would be obliged to return from a Summer in the USA to continue my education to the Masters level. And to a university, oh fancy! Those days, imagine kids, the quickest way to get the grades, more or less in real time, albeit alphabetical, was to go the day the grades were read out aloud, if not in attendance, one has to wait for the postie.

Anyway, grade secured (2.1 for the Brits), off we (Mum and I) raced.

Now, small diversion. The time of getting the grades to the flight departure was tight, very tight, miniscule.

So, my dear mother was waiting in the car outside of the poly doors open, engine running to get me, hopefully to a train and then a plane etc. 

Out after the “Ma…” (Marshs) outside i rushed, happy with a decent grade (despite studying in Manchester in the 1980s).  In the car and Sweeeny speed (Starsky and Hutch for non-UK) to the train station. Ran down the platform, jumped on the train by opening the door whilst it was moving (one could then) and jumping in and bag through the window, good wishes, enjoy the USA, tears, crazy waving, panting, relief.

Of course, no reservation and always packed UK transport, only 1 seat, next to the very annoying 1980’s sliding door and toilet. Well, ok, sat down, everyone on the train was already looking at me through the windows (as the goody two shoes were on time). They were observing an uncouth young running down the platform, diving on the train and baggage tossed into an Intercity 125. 

Decompressing, looking around, nothing to do, no time for WHSmith etc, opened the bag (backpack) Mum had packed for me, and in the top, 4 cans of beer, wish I could remembver which, a tag with a note “Well done, lots of love!” awwww.

I think a decompressing drink is the best, ok sunset in a Jamaican sunset is pretty nice.

So, I was overjoyed, saw the beer and yanked them out, so happy to take a slurp and feel the relaxing properties of alcohol, albeit 1980’s UK (not a sign of quality). 

I remember looking at the people opposite facing me, when about pull open the famous at the time ring pull and their violently shaking of heads, horizontally or basically “no, no, NO, NO”.  I suppose if I saw someone about the ring from a hand grenade my reaction might be similiar.

I just couldn’t understand why they were doing that…

Funny, watching the beer spurt everywhere, not unlike a bottle of champagne at a F1 race, I remember watching the beer emerging from the can and the ringpull and thinking it’s not quite a 90 degree   can spray angle .. sort of 88 degrees, how odd! Suppose what people say about incidents is time slows down. Well, it’s true.

I don’t I even tried to stop it, was watching, in surprise, more than shock, a sort of “it’s not me”. The people facing me, I do recall definitely tried to shield themselves of a beer shampoo, quite reasonably.

The the severity of spraying lots of men, how unlucky with beer might be a sticky situation for me, as well as them. Oh shit! what I am going to do as time fast forwarding to the here and now, or the there and then.

And, which is a shame, I don’t remember thinking this, I said:

“Do you want a beer?”

(I am quite sure I was thinking there were 3 left, not being funny)

And perhaps to mitigate / dodge, avoid a beating, remember the UK in the 1980s (repeating theme).

But, thank god, despite hooligans, I come from a country of funny people , especially in the North West, a reply came from the man opposite, soaking, dripping…

“No, thanks, I’ve just had one”

Oh, funny, relief, dodged a bullet.