Alright, you asked for it, gluttons for punishment, the lot of you
Let me recall the less savoury side of this character of mine... could this be therapy!
'In shrink's voice':
Tell me about your childhood....
Let me relate one of the darker episodes in this life of mine. I think it's genuinely recognised that the young male of the species is usually nothing but trouble when he reaches the age of 14. This is the time of life when males of that age usually commit crimes they would never have dreamed of doing just six months previously. They also take it upon themselves to upset their guardians/parents/authority figures as much as is humanly possible and take on an arrogant attitude, symptoms of which include talking back abusively, refusing to do as requested and making a very determined effort to be slovenly and turn their bedroom into a passable replica of the local council's refuse disposal yard.
Why this should be, I know not. Perhaps it's a surge of hormones. Perhaps it's an awakening where the young male realises his life is pretty much ruled by his parents (or, for the politically correct, his guardians) and mistakenly and misguidedly decides to rebel against this, not realising that (in most cases) the folk looking after him only have his best interests at heart.
Whatever the reason most males around the age of 14 become completely obnoxious little gits for a a period of time. This period of time lasts for a minimum of two years and has been known to actually carry on to the age of 54 in some rare cases.
So, when I was 14, attending secondary school, I realised that surviving school was something to be taken seriously. Age 14 at school is, possibly, one of the hardest and cruellest periods in one's life to journey through and come out sane and unbloodied at the end of the journey at age 16 or so.
So, to avoid bullying and ending up with a boxer's nose I befriended one of the school's hard cases. I figured if I was friends with somebody everybody feared then maybe I'd be left alone. So I got talking to Terry Goff (that was his real name) who was rather fond of whacking kids in the mouth just for fun and taking their dinner money from them. He was feared and he was hard. Perfect.
So I asked around, found out what interested him, and got talking to him in the playground at break and dinner times. I managed to engage this local thug in conversation and soon we could be described as, if not friends, then certainly acquaintances. There was one little drawback to this arrangement however, and that was, in order so I didn't end up on the end of his fist, I had to sort of run errands for him.
In short, I became a 'gofer' in exchange for protection. Nothing new here I suppose, this has been going on since time immerorial. But, as long as I could swallow the humility, I soon found out I had some sort of respect now and came to realise I was being left alone, not bullied - result!
This may make me seem a little odious and something of a toady. I did understand this at the time however, but I thought it was a fair price to pay for my new status. I can remember the teachers, noting this new 'friendship' became colder to me, they did not like Terry. I had always constantly been in trouble prior to my forming an alliance with Terry and what puzzled and annoyed the teachers was the fact that I always managed to stay in the top class and come top in most tests and exams yet still got caned and got detention regularly, something of a paradox I suppose.
So, Terry and I came to hang around together, we actually seemed to become quite good friends, though I'm sure both of us were aware we were using each other. Maybe, maybe not, I'll never know. One morning we played truant with two girls, one of which was named Wendy Prosser. I can't remember the other girl's name.
As I remember it we took a train from Grove Park railway station to Hither Green and went back to Wendy's house, which was empty as her parents were working. Her house was quite near the Station Hotel Pub at Hither Green.
We sat around in the living room and after a while Terry and Wendy disappeared upstairs where they stayed for the next hour or so. Myself and the other girl sat downstairs, listened to the radio, talked and drank orange squash. Hey, I was 14, what did I know? After, we took a train back and attended school for the afternoon. To this day I wonder what Terry and Wendy got up to. Perhaps it's best I don't know.
As mine and Terry's friendship grew - and it did grow, he no longer bossed me about so much - we took to playing truant - or 'hopping the wag' as it was then known - more frequently. Then Terry had this idea. He had observed, travelling on buses, that at the end of each bus journey the bus crew would park the bus in the yard or depot and go and have a cup of tea or something.
During their break they would lock the fare takings in a cupboard under the bus stairs, behind where the conductor stood when they weren't busy. This key the conductor carried on a loop on the outside of their leather bag they wore to hold the cash and spare ticket rolls for fares.
So one day, as a conductor was walking up the aisle on the lower floor, I called the conductor over at just the right moment to ask which stop to get off at and while he was distracted Terry nicked the key off the side of his leather bag and quickly put it in his pocket.
We then hung about at the Grove Park bus depot for a few days and observed the comings and goings of the bus crews and made mental notes. We noted that the average time the crews spent in their canteen was 15 - 20 minutes and most crews left their money in the cupboard under the stairs. Some crews, however, perhaps a little wary, took their cash into the canteen with them. Note we were 14 years old at the time, I am still genuinely surprised we had the presence of mind to do this.
We also noticed that most parked buses gave their crews a direct line of sight from the canteen windows to the cash cupboard under the stairs. Except for two parking spaces, immediately outside a small supermarket. The supermarket (Or just a large shop in those days) was not busy and few people from there walked past the two out-of-sight-of-the-crews parked buses.
So, after much talk where we thought we'd covered most angles and issues, we made ready to carry out our first hit. I got on the parked bus, which was empty, so it looked like I was waiting for it to move off for me to journey. From where I was sitting I could see the canteen and could thus give a warning if a crew were making their way back to the bus.
Terry crouched low, got on the bus, opened the cupboard with his stolen key and emptied the contents of two cash boxes into a carrier bag he had with him. He then locked the cupboard, leaving everything as it was and we both slowly walked away from the bus.
Underneath the row of shops where that small supermarket was were a series of service tunnels which you could enter through an open gate to a railway goods yard. This is where we headed, with torches and candles, to inspect our ill gotten gains.
What we had were bags of pennies, sixpences, shillings, florins and half crowns. Shillings were the most common. Counted up, we had bagged about £15 which in 1964 was pretty much an absolute fortune to a pair of 14-year-olds. The only problem, we soon figured, was how to spend all that loose change. Who would take five shillings in pennies without suspecting skulduggery?
I'll tell you who - Wimpy Bars, record shops and any Lewisham market stall, they didn't give a monkeys how the money came in.
We stored the money in this little hard-to-find alcove in those service tunnels, covered it with bricks. Our raids continued, our fortunes swelled and soon we had the best part of £60.00 hidden in a mountain of small change. Our only problem was how to spend it. When you're 14 your desires and wants are really quite modest and all that money was a huge amount to us.
We bought 7" 45 records, some Airfix kits, some new shoes, lots of sweets, new lights and stuff for our bicycles, comics, and we went to the Wimpy Bar a lot. Previously the Wimpy Bar seemed like a luxury, now we were eating there most evenings, we felt like kings, we felt good.
We carried on nicking, there were a couple of close calls, we were almost caught a few times and we were chased twice but a couple of healthy non-smoking 14-year-old boys can outrun a fat smoking middle aged bus conductor.
This lasted just a couple of months, we were lording it up and probably sub-consciously thought that crime does pay. But then one day the stolen key didn't work. They'd changed the lock on the cash cupboard and had obviously sussed what was happening. It couldn't last, could it?
As we looked at each other in the bus, we noticed out the bus window about twenty bus staff running towards the bus with several police officers. Oh crap! We legged it, we outran them, but they'd had a good look at us, two young white lads in school uniforms.
We went down the service tunnel, counted our money and realised our little spree had come to an end. We started attending school regularly again, a week went by. Then one morning I was called to the headmasters office. When I went in, wondering what this was all about, the head teacher introduced me to a CID officer from the local nick.
He told me his name, seemed friendly, the head teacher (actually an acting head teacher, a Mr Sharrock, the regular head, Mr McCarthy, was away, possibly ill and in hospital considering events to come) explained I was to accompany the CID officer as he wanted to interview me. It was not explained to me what the police wanted to interview me for.
So me and this CID officer - and let me explain here folks, this copper was an identikit plod straight out of that TV series 'Life On Mars'. Overweight, mid-height, moustache, shiny suit, smoked and smelt of booze - went walking around the school grounds during lesson time and he proceeded to interview me.
He more or less got straight to the point, he said there had been money stolen from Grove Park Bus Depot and I had been seen there and he had reason to believe I was the one who had stolen it. I, of course, denied it. Unknown to me at the time was that another officer was giving my partner in crime, Terry, the same treatment.
I walked the school grounds with my overweight companion for more than two hours, constantly being questioned. He used every trick in the book to trip me up, tried the soft approach, the hard approach, gentle persuasion, coercion and he very nearly caught me out. But he didn't. I'm still surprised that at the age of 14 I had the presence of mind to mentally outbox this guy and I didn't break down and confess or get caught out.
I was later to learn Terry also resisted coercion. The police left the school, I went back to lessons, no charges were brought and that was the end of that. Or so I thought. Despite the police being unable to prove Terry and I were guilty of any crime the acting head teacher phoned our parents and informed them of events, apparently strongly hinting that we were in fact guilty.
When I got home my Dad confronted me, I denied all and for the first time in my life my dad pretty much beat me up, swung a few good really good right handers at me that connected. During this confrontation I managed to scramble under the kitchen table where my dad continued to try and whack me but only succeeded in cutting his knuckles where they connected with the kitchen table.
Then my Mum, who was pregnant with my little brother at the time and sticking out in front, came into the kitchen and threw the screaming ab-dabs, shouting at my Dad to stop thumping me, which he then did. Dad went upstairs (or possibly down the pub) my Mum went to her bedroom and I sat outside in the garden and felt my bruises.
To this day, and even then, I hold no malice against my father for reacting as he did, I deserved it, I was acting like a little ****.
And that was the end of that, or so I thought, Dad and I got on just fine the next day, the incident wasn't mentioned, and school carried on as normal, albeit with even more hostility from my teachers.
And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not proud of it. I am, perhaps, a little ashamed, but not that much ashamed. And from the age of 19 I've been straight as a die, which I sometimes wonder about...
But, the bus episode wasn't the end of it, two more significant episodes were to occur before I (almost) settled down to a regular pattern...
Also, part of the pleasure is in seeing those old album sleeves. No doubt about it, the purchase of an LP which had a "special" sleeve, always added to the thrill, I think. 
Guys Hospital should have given me a checkup on December 1st but they didn't, Guys Hospital dentist were supposed to be treating me and promised me an appointment when I last saw them in March but they haven't. Those budget cuts cut deep indeed. Still, I ain't too bothered, not really in any discomfort and seeing the oncologist always scares the bejayzuz out of me anyway so in one way I'd rather not know, lol 
