#mymatedave

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There is no point to this blog.  It is a pointless blog.  If it was a pencil, you would throw it away as it has no point.

Ah, but if it DID have a point.... then the point would be this.  In 1986, I completed my A Levels (I say 'completed' - I did not say 'passed'); I went to Cornwall with a kid called "mymatedave" - always said as one word.

At school we didn't learn together (he ended up with a 1st from Cambridge, I ended up as a panda), we got drunk together, we walked a lot, I pinched the sandwiches his ma would make.  He was and is a good man.

Talking through the divorce of my parents - mymatedave was there for me.

Anger at my old man (to the point of paying a guy to stab him); mymatedavewasthere

We went to Cornwall - Fistral Beach - we bummed around, went to a night club where we saw such massive DJ stars as Steve Wright and Dixie Peach (hey girl, got any African in you?  Do ya want some?) - oh how we laughed at those kerazy types.

We also danced a lot to this tune in the only club we could find there.

Mymatedave - I learnt to drink with him, smoke cigars with him, eat shredded wheat (drunk) at 1am - we loved Frankie Goes To Hollywood... he loved Blondie, I loved Jesus & Mary Chain... we worked at McDonalds together, double-dated and, basically, had a laugh.  I even got into a little 'trouble' with about half a dozen guys one night as he slept, drunk, on a pub chair as I vainly tried to defend his honour (!).

Mymatedave is mymate - I don't see him enough or speak to him enough - he has a STUNNING wife, two gorgeous daughters - and is the same chilled smart funny guy with shit dress sense as in 1986.

If you see him and he's wearing a yellow jumper in a goth pub... burn it - it's best for us all.

Time with Mymatedave was a series of Happy Hours.