Go on, have a good cry

As I said, I was terrible at football. Indeed, I was terrible at all sports.

A direct result, I feel, was that there were many times when I was subjected to significant isolation. Sport is about being part of a team or a group. Not liking sport can result, perhaps, in the opposite.

Not that I remember this as being particularly painful but I'm sure it was the case. And besides, being isolated and alone at school can be about more than just not liking sports.

I would usually find my place in the order of things though. Sometimes it would be as a referee of a football game (until I sent one too many people off). Sometimes it would be just me and the new girl, sitting under the massive tree in the school field on the edge of the football pitch, swearing like sailors. On other occasions it would be just me and the psycho kid from nursery playing epic Star Wars-like adventures in the wasteland behind my parent's house (now a housing estate). Or it would be when every kid in the class came out from having their lunch and asked me what I was playing and whether they could join in. "We're playing at keeping order on the playground - your position is over there - keep order!" came the answer. That particular game didn't last very long.

Does an almost encyclopeadic memory of these sorts of childhood events constitute "dwelling unhealthily on the past"?

Crying, knee deep in "sinking mud", terrified as to what it reaching my neck would involve. Watching "the snoggers" in the local park. Making elaborate mazes in the long grass in the aforementioned wasteland. Watching the wasteland being dug up and seeing the first new residents move in. The fact that one of the new arrivals was a kid my age who was occasionally prone to wearing mesh, see-through black tee-shirts. See a kid gluesniffing down by the stormdrain in the park. Scaring some girls in the small woodland next to the stormdrain by whispering their names from up a tree. Losing the cat and looking in the woodland for her. The cat coming back. The Mayor coming to school and asking us if any of us were in the cubs. We were all in the scouts by then. Playing "The Entertainer" in the school hall whilst two of the girls from my class acted out a chattering mime to the music. One of them's dead now. Standing on a podium after having sung "away in a manger" as a solo for the second time, waiting for the applause that I was assured was going to come and didn't. Every birthday being marked by spanks from a metre rule, over the teacher's lap. Mrs R crying with laughter at the image of Charlotte trying to spin her web. Telling on SM for sniffing a PrittStick. My brother crying at the thought of having to deliver free papers to a road with lots of dogs. Country Dancing. Being good at Country Dancing. Sledging. Running as fast as I could. Running away from the kids half way down the street who wanted a "toll" to pass - the penalty for non-payment being a stone thrown at your back as you cycled away. Falling off SB's bike outside my house and my mum asking if I'd damaged the bike. Falling off my own bike and needing stitches. Not wanting (screaming that I didn't want to) to go to get the stitches done. Having ringworm. For ages. The cat nearly getting put down for "giving" me ringworm. My brother catching it too but a more common version. Mine was special. Never really believing in Santa. Or the toothfairy. Water fights in the street. Stick Insects. Being obsessed, for a limited period, about how old I was going to be when my parents died. Being obsessed, for a limited period, about the fact that my limited savings of £102 were never going to be enough to buy a house of my own. Spanking the cat. Spanking the monkey. A lot. Being disappointed at the inconvenience of something "resulting". Tickles. Debaggings. Iced Buns after Dad got home from golf. Chicken in a Basket at the golf club. The magician at the golf club. The smell of the golf club. Scary Mr T. Scary Mrs B. The particularly scary dinner lady.

When it was all over, on my last day at junior school, with so many more exciting and scary things ahead, with my pink school progress book sitting in my lap - finally in my possession for good - I felt sad. I felt as if something was lost that would never be gotten back.

"Go on, have a good cry" said my Mum.