When someone different was I
Jeezum. Came across the wedding album last night. The first one, that is. I'd forgotten that it had devolved to me. This is scanned from a print, of course, negatives being retained by the photographer, and was taken at the evening "do". There was no getting out of it. It was a warm night in June 1986. Shiny foreheads much in evidence.
Smiling pleasantly at the end of the front row is the bride's mother, then my sister, niece and the bride's grandmothers. The middle row was basically the bride's circle of friends: Doug and ...what was her name? Sandra? then Marcus and "Kar"(en). They subsequently married and their son currently shares "uni" digs with our youngest. Marcus I remember as a virtuoso of Bristol accent and dialect, which came naturally to him as a Bristolian, but which he could "put on". He was a particular master of the complexities associated with that famous local characteristic, the L added to terminal short vowels ...by no means a simple matter. Bride at right.
Standing left is the bride's late father, a nice man whom I liked. The rest of those at the back are me and my lot. The yellow shirt, with some sort of label or "logo" worn externally at the breast pocket, was probably associated with the bride's campaign to modernise my appearance. Next to me is Phillip Flook, usually known simply as "Flooky", but also as "Splodge". I think he had started working on the buses in 1969 and retired only a few months ago. He had an inexhaustible repertoire of yarns about the early days, mostly concerning the 28s and 84s. There was the regular passenger on the 28s, obviously not quite "all there" who, when given his ticket, would apply it to the tip of his tongue and then stick it to his forehead. The 28s were then operated by dual-door REs and it was this man's practice to rest his hindquarters on the top of the luggage pen, which was opposite the exit door, while he waited to alight. Finding the road lined with parked cars on either side of the bus stop at Shirehampton Green one day, Flooky had to cut in a bit sharp to get to the kerb. There was a devastating crash and, glancing up into the interior mirror, he saw a pair of shod feet waving in the air. The passenger had toppled over backwards into the luggage pen and had to be freed from among the various folding pushchairs. Another absurd canteen saga concerned dissociative experience during a piece of "grabbing" (voluntary overtime) on the 28s. This had occurred when Flooky had been suffering from a persistant sore throat and bought a bottle of some cough-suppressant syrup such as Veno's. He put the bottle in the pocket of his uniform tunic and took an occasional swig as he was going along. He quite liked the taste too and, by the time he came to do the grabbing, the bottle was empty. As the evening traffic began to build up, Flooky noticed that he didn't seem to mind as much as he might have expected and, by the time he joined the back of the stop-go uphill queue leading to the Cross Hands traffic lights on Bedminster Down, he didn't mind one little bit. Nope. Not at all. Then there were the yarns chronicling his entanglements with women...
I had intended to conclude with an account of my greatest pal on the buses, Arthur Jeremy, the mustachioed figure at the end, but I have exceeded my intentions and this post has grown over-long. It had better wait for another time. The girl was Karen Kitchen, Arthur's current girlfriend. I think she worked in either the travel office or the snacketeria at the bus station.
When someone different was I
Jeezum. Came across the wedding album last night. The first one, that is. I'd forgotten that it had devolved to me. This is scanned from a print, of course, negatives being retained by the photographer, and was taken at the evening "do". There was no getting out of it. It was a warm night in June 1986. Shiny foreheads much in evidence.
Smiling pleasantly at the end of the front row is the bride's mother, then my sister, niece and the bride's grandmothers. The middle row was basically the bride's circle of friends: Doug and ...what was her name? Sandra? then Marcus and "Kar"(en). They subsequently married and their son currently shares "uni" digs with our youngest. Marcus I remember as a virtuoso of Bristol accent and dialect, which came naturally to him as a Bristolian, but which he could "put on". He was a particular master of the complexities associated with that famous local characteristic, the L added to terminal short vowels ...by no means a simple matter. Bride at right.
Standing left is the bride's late father, a nice man whom I liked. The rest of those at the back are me and my lot. The yellow shirt, with some sort of label or "logo" worn externally at the breast pocket, was probably associated with the bride's campaign to modernise my appearance. Next to me is Phillip Flook, usually known simply as "Flooky", but also as "Splodge". I think he had started working on the buses in 1969 and retired only a few months ago. He had an inexhaustible repertoire of yarns about the early days, mostly concerning the 28s and 84s. There was the regular passenger on the 28s, obviously not quite "all there" who, when given his ticket, would apply it to the tip of his tongue and then stick it to his forehead. The 28s were then operated by dual-door REs and it was this man's practice to rest his hindquarters on the top of the luggage pen, which was opposite the exit door, while he waited to alight. Finding the road lined with parked cars on either side of the bus stop at Shirehampton Green one day, Flooky had to cut in a bit sharp to get to the kerb. There was a devastating crash and, glancing up into the interior mirror, he saw a pair of shod feet waving in the air. The passenger had toppled over backwards into the luggage pen and had to be freed from among the various folding pushchairs. Another absurd canteen saga concerned dissociative experience during a piece of "grabbing" (voluntary overtime) on the 28s. This had occurred when Flooky had been suffering from a persistant sore throat and bought a bottle of some cough-suppressant syrup such as Veno's. He put the bottle in the pocket of his uniform tunic and took an occasional swig as he was going along. He quite liked the taste too and, by the time he came to do the grabbing, the bottle was empty. As the evening traffic began to build up, Flooky noticed that he didn't seem to mind as much as he might have expected and, by the time he joined the back of the stop-go uphill queue leading to the Cross Hands traffic lights on Bedminster Down, he didn't mind one little bit. Nope. Not at all. Then there were the yarns chronicling his entanglements with women...
I had intended to conclude with an account of my greatest pal on the buses, Arthur Jeremy, the mustachioed figure at the end, but I have exceeded my intentions and this post has grown over-long. It had better wait for another time. The girl was Karen Kitchen, Arthur's current girlfriend. I think she worked in either the travel office or the snacketeria at the bus station.