Childhood memories

My first memory was not being able to remember anything. This vivid memory was paralleled many times in various places. The teacher had just asked me what I thought about something she’d just said and I couldn’t remember what it was she’d been saying. This was to prove constantly repetitive throughout my schooling career so far.

    But, one thing that can never be forgotten is the holidays. Having to pack, throwing up in awkward places and having to kick the car to make it go better.

One of the best holidays has to be in Scotland, this is because we never seem to go anywhere else  Not that I mind this at all. It’s better than Rhyl. But one place rings out more than any other.

This place was ‘a tin hut’ this basic accomodation was a great laugh. I often look back on the holidays spent there. The water, a tap connected to a weir a couple of miles  away. The heating was a great range, supplied by driftwood picked up at the waterside. Everytime it rained there echoes strange noises. It rained quite a lot and it sounded like being in a air raid shelter in the Blitz or that people were throwing bricks at us. Or was that my Dad snoring. Yes it probably was. One of the years we were there Sally almost got shot. This may seem like an epic tale, but it loses any interest gained when I tell you that Sally was a dog; with a hidden passion for sheep. And we were surrounde by loads of ‘easy to irritate’ farmers. Still it started to rain. And we enjoyed ourselves as nothing was new.

We’ve only been to fort William once in reasonable sunshine, the place is full of kebab shops now, they’ve taken away the chipshops now. Like so many ripp off merchents you always seem to remember them.
‘Here lies Fraser Campbell. And he never forgot Billys Chip shop charging 50p per polystyrine container containing ‘the lowest multiple of ten’ chips in it. And over £1 for some IRN-BRU.’
But in the mind of any true/ partially English Scotsman it’s the price that seems to stand out. But then the tin hut was pratically free. Well less expensive than my older brother.
My Gran went with us on holiday to the tin hut place. Where her pony skinned gloves attracted most species of pony. It reminds me of the Victor meldrew special last Christmas. Although the event wasn’t that bad.
My Dad had to cut up some firewood that was found on the banks of where he was staying. This could result in the occasional swear word, which has to be supressed for obvious reasons.
Many people don’t like Scotland, many people in Scotland hate England. I’m fairly sure both sets of people hate Ireland.
But that seems irrelevant that just past paragraph. irrelevant but utterly true.
One of my memories was my Gran wrestling with a milk carton to try, in vain, to get some milk out of it. My brother came along and pointed out casually, after fifteen minutes of trying, that the carton was the wrong way up. The corn flakes had bits of card in the milk. But still my Mum didn’t notice.

Often we used to visit the old house behind the hut itself, this place was an old ruin of a farmhouse made of stone. It was good to look at a derelict house and possibly take some artifacts back. This never happened (the last part) as we decided against it. We often visit old houses on holiday. A few years back we visited a fisherman’s house that was up for sale or going to be demolished.
At the tin hut the weather was a mix of sun, an unregular occurence in fort William, and a reputable British climate. We have cine film to prove we did have our share of sun. A great holiday, never to be matched with anything apart from Kemmel near the capital of Belgium.
We visited the site of the tin hut last year. The site is still as beautiful but almost everything else has changed. The site and place has been spring upon by the ‘rush for housing’ demand. Many wooden but have the ‘modern look’ about them. My Mum agreed, after a few moments argument, to take a picture of the highland cattle that roamed there. The picture was only spoilt by the pole of a passing place. A frequent roadside apperence in that part of Scotland. We have been travelling for hours and had already listened to most of the Corries tapes. The family went with my brother’s then girlfriend. Looking over a book by Douglas Adams. With her the briefest whimper could be considered a conversational victory.

The hut is still there, only a different colour now ‘a trendy pink’ with a pile of building materials nearby, where the owners intend to build it’s replacement.

What the teacher said:

Level 7=
A very lively “stream of consciousnes essay” which is not out of place for the subject. It does make a difference word processing your work.

now it's on the Internet that last comment looks a bit daft I suppose