The Chainsmokers weren’t a national punchline yet. They’d made a name for themselves with their novelty song Selfie before everyone realised that they were actually very, very serious about their music.
He tried his best to explain the finer parts of Spanish grammar, all of which I have forgotten. Such an unrewarding task. Even at 15 I could recognise this. But unlike other teachers he never raised his voice, or said threatening things, and he never gave any detentions. I could imagine him going home to his drab brown life, eating drab brown food and having to mark our very drab homework.
There were a couple of abandoned old sheds, and a few trees. A cow pen. The place was littered with old glass bottles, tin cans, parts of things. All of it became mine. My teenage refuge.
Deirdre quoted from a hit song of the period in a letter the four girls wrote to me, passed on by Joan on one of those afternoons walking home from school.
My sole ambition in life is to find out what has happened to John Fogerty.
As fitting as it was to imagine Mrs Hart perched atop a fleecy cloud, my sympathies were firmly with her howling, motherless child.
Tina told me one of her favourite songs was a ballad from the album, Fool For You Anyway; for a while, I listened to that song repeatedly and thought of her.
Listen to Stephen Andrew as he recalls errant high-school days and a taciturn teacher.
The opening bars of Tucker’s Daughter will forever be associated with the interminable wait during school dancing lessons of holding the clammy hands of a socially inept male counterpart.
While I loved music and sat in class day-dreaming that the girl sitting in front of me in class was the girl Marc Bolan swooned over in Hot Love, I hated school, a situation reflected in my term reports.