Baznotinnotts

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24 Excellent Nottstalgia Content

About Baznotinnotts

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    Mobile with the Memphis blues again

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  1. I taught at the Beauvale School, not a million miles from Moorgreen pit, from 1970 til 1980. The PTA organised trips for parents to exciting places like the Nottingham telephone exchange, but the most memorable visit was down Moorgreen mine. It was very warm, breezy and when the lights were put out, er, dark. The manrider and the confined coal face gave a real view of a difficult and dangerous job. Respect! B.
  2. Plenty to hide, still hidden, but thoroughly cured of loops. When at college the cleaner, a lovely lady from Clifton estate, left me a handwritten note, 'If you keep leaving your bed in such a mess, you and me are going to fall out.' She might have told me earlier. Just been told by a certain lady she would like some guzgogs from Waitrose today. You can take the girl out of Nottingham, but you can't take Nottingham out of the girl. Her sister has lived California for over 50 years, and sounds native until she says words like cup, up, and that uh sound comes in. This is straying into the wrong thread ...
  3. The teachers were scary, liked to play bridge a lot and send you up, but the girls, some only about five years or so younger, were very nice to me, but in 1968 there was a lot of machismo from the lads that summer on the verge of leaving, perhaps to go down the pit, or to become millionaires, who knows, but after all those lovely children at Berridge it had to be primary. We've passed a lot of water since then ... Excuse me what does machismo mean? It's Spanish for pizoing about and showing off B.
  4. Suddenly remembered I had taken some photographs to be developed, ages ago. "Be ready tomorrow" I was told Some day my prints will come. 1 shilling and elevenpence halfpenny, a bit steep. B.
  5. Found this down the back of the sofa ... proof reader required. B.
  6. Do you not also have the signed photograph of me with the other Beatles, making a surprise appearance at The Beachcomber Club? Any cheques with my signature from that time are also valuable e.g. Pay Miltons Head Hotel 2 shillings and sixpence, for five nights stay. When I started full time at the chalk face my handwriting was judged to be inadequate, because the new boss insisted on everything being written in italic. As you can see from my beautiful italic writing in this reply I still have brilliant calligraphic skills. B.
  7. Well you are certainly familiar with God's own country. I moved north from Wellingborough in the back of a van in 1960 to huge culture shock, coal dust everywhere and noisy woollen mills belching our filth from those chimneys which have mostly been Fred Dibnered. The biggest shock, however, was the dialect. I couldn't understand a word, and you know that when locals detect a foreigner they become even more dense in their language. Anyway I soon adapted until by 67 it was grass not grarse, vowels securely flattened. I had spent four years at Huddersfield Tech, and then to Clifton. A college friend married my sister, and it was his funeral which last took me to Nottingham. Sick of the transit etc. The initial qualification was Certificate of Education, but in the mid 70s I went back to Clifton on two evenings a week for three years and gained a B.Ed, with an immediate and very welcome increase in salary! Then came lots of interviews, and eventually a move to Gloucestershire, where they talk funny. ... and just because I'm a compulsive snapper Regards, B.
  8. re: Parentage Hi Jill, Whoops, all my certainties are shattered. That'll teach you not to believe a single word I say. Thank you for your pedantry, and, of course, for introducing me to this site. Pizos all round! And remember Cheers, B.
  9. I left this place, a mining village and birthplace of the current Doctor Who and arrived in Nottingham in 1967, to start my teacher training course at Clifton. My name was incidentally dropped into a post for Berridge School and I picked this up on Google. My most traumatic teaching practice was at Beardall Secondary, Hucknall. I have never fully recovered and decided to teach Juniors. In several moments of idleness I've been posting bits and pieces. Now I live in Stroud, but as my much better half was born in Sherwood Rise, there are reasons to return, as well as purely sentimental motives. Just up the road in glorious Glos is so must be another exile, but I've never knocked . Cheers, B.
  10. My mother-in-law used to to say she was starving, but the house had plenty of food and she'd just eaten a Fray Bentos tinned pie and a plate of wagon wheels, before the size was reduced. Having spent many years in Yorkshire, where they speak proper, sithee, even with flat bowels and a lot of theeing and thouing I thought to be starved was to be hungry, but apparently one may be starved with code, er, cold. She also turned old into ode, so an ode man is not a variety of poet, but merely ancient. As she was from the west of Notts this way of talking is perhaps nearer Derbyshire. Ta ra, B.
  11. ‘Actress Sarah Miles stated, in 2007, that she had been drinking her own urine for 30 years for health reasons.’ Wikipedia Her father, Bernard Miles, who played Joe (“What larks Pip old chap”) in an adaption of ‘Great Eggspectations’ by Charles Chickens, famously stated, on the subject of urine drinking ‘It looks good, tastes good and by golly (a word now not allowed) it makes you violently sick. Or was that about Mackeson, but probably equally true? I am also reminded of the Shipstones claim that all their ales were ‘drawn straight from the Trent’. I once took a swimming course at Sneinton Baths. The contents of the pool were said to be 60% urine and 42% chlorine, I think the Maths am correct, weak grandma as well. The chlorine killed 99% of all known germs, but sadly it was the other 1% that harmed so many children. Oh well, must go and pour another glass of pizo to drink at my convenience. Cheers B.
  12. I am in two minds, and counting, about taking this excellent advice. I have all of the above, and am looking for more as I hate being left out. I really must take a trip to Jerus ..., ah no, that's a pub, a trip to Nottingham to restore my equilibrium. A snack upstairs in Woolworths cafe, or a browse around Griffin and Spalding, Jessops or Pearsons, chips in the Snackery (full 'arse), watch Forest play Man U, and of course shake hands and hug all my former contacts .... but a TARDIS may be required. B.
  13. Excellent bus site, thanks. I did go to the surgery about my bus obsession, but when I got there the receptionist said there wasn't a doctor available. I waited and waited, and then three came along at once. A few Trent Barton A different interest is postboxes. Don't call the big yellow taxi yet. They are interesting artifacts, some of them Victorian, left out in all weathers, and snapping them keeps me off the streets.See A list of Notts box locations here http://edwardbetts.com/postboxes/NG.html Hello, hello, anyone still there? Please don't take the pizo over these interests. B.
  14. A mention of local transport! Buses in Nottingham, anyone? Sadly they are not green and cream. Yours obsessively, B.
  15. Oh no, I suffer from 'earworms' and every time someone mentions purple I get April and Nino going around in my head. When I arrived in the metropolis a visit to Pearsons record department was a regular, and the first thing I bought there was 'Bluesbreakers' , Mayall and Clapton. When I moved south this was one of the LPs I left in the attic at Trough Road, Watnall, having foolishly succumbed to CDs. Strange how teenage boys felt such affinity with cotton pickers in the Delta and meat processors in Chicago ... Elmore James, Houndog Taylor and, of course, that well known Nottingham estate agent Robert Johnson. My current earworm, because gold was mentioned in connection with a bus, strange person, is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF9Q3hnAr88 Oh well, back to loading the dishwasher. Far out, peace and light, B.