I am not a one for citing memorable quotations. Being something of literary philistine as a consequence of attending possibly the most backward, ill-equipped and under achieving private school to have ever undermined the education of west London boys I cannot inflate the significance of wondrous moments with memorable quotes whether Greek, Shakespearian or otherwise.Perhaps a couple of well worn Churchillian calls to arms are about as far I can stretch on that score.

Nevertheless quotations have a place in my life, usually but not exclusively spoken by those near and dear. I am often reminded of such a quote of my mother’s many years ago during a spell when I was living a few steps away from London in the semi-verdant Buckinghamshire village of Denham, her words precipitated by a short passage in Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit Of Love. (Kim bought me a book token for Christmas and I am playing never too late literary catch-up). 

“The great difference,” says Linda, “between Surrey and proper, real country, is that in Surrey, when you see blossom, you know there will be no fruit.” Point taken.

Coming upon this passage 15 years to the very day mum died I was reminded of what she acerbically remarked upon my own perception of the countryside: “That’s not real countryside, just some trees” popping up every time I mistook leafy suburbs and grass verges for somewhere bleak and empty like the Yorkshire Dales close to where she grew up; real country.  Another is from her days serving in the Auxiliary Territorial Service during WW11. Whenever I hear ATS or see woman soldiers it brings to mind her proud recollection of one of a group of US GIs calling “g, it’s Robin Hood,” as the wind caught her military green uniform skirt blowing it up around her waist.

Whenever I hear of the educational struggles of the offspring of friends I see the amiable headmaster of my loathsome school, in his cape and mortar board, saying, when I refused to be caned for not having my hair cut short enough, “…if you won’t accept punishment I shall have to ask your mother to withdraw you from the school.” At last!

Neither can I forget that from a sort of friend I met at Waterloo’s College of Further Education, a second chance joint in The Cut along from The Old Vic where those of us who either never got a chance to take their ‘O’ Levels due to being expelled or simply never got a shot at them. These were the days of long hair, long player long four sided prog-rock albums, long great coats and long cigarette papers. I was agreeable to much of that but couldn’t shake off my desire for Tamla Motown, decent haircuts and finding ways to earn money. It meant I never enjoyed lie-ins and always pulled back from being totally blotto. Enough for Bob Haley, a wannabe rock star with a wicked laugh, who ironically ended up cutting hair in a swank Knightsbridge salon, to say of me, “straight, in the nicest possible way.” A condemnation or compliment depending upon my mood at the time. 

I visit cobblers more frequently than shoe shops these days and whenever I do I can see the commissioning editor of the London Standard upon being asked by me how much he intended to pay for an article on London pubs glancing at my footwear (light tan triple welt Florsheim ‘Imperial” brogues if you’re wondering) and replying “…I took one look at your shoes and knew you’d be expensive.” 

A style quote updated recently in an offbeat coffee shop on an industrial estate whereupon seeing me in full length raincoat and Coker the manager asked if I always dressed like that? A neighbour Susie replied for me: “Yes, all the time. He walks the dog looking like that.”

But enough of me. A favourite that Kim and I share sprung to mind years back watching Match of the Day. It came from lanky former Queens Park Rangers, Liverpool and Portsmouth front man Peter Crouch upon being asked what he would have been in life if not a Premiership footballer? He thought for a moment then answered, “…a virgin.” Incidentally Crouch retains the record for heading the most headed goals in Premier League history. 

Being a Premiership player may have aided my long time absent pal Witney whose experience I am reminded of when similarly inebriated mates have let their courtesy slip while speaking of attractive younger women. Witney, around 40 at the time, had been at a birthday bash for the much younger girlfriend of another old mate at the Hilton in London’s Park Lane. After a couple of drinks at the bar he’d sat down next to a young woman at a table of similarly aged friends but before he’d finished his opening remark she turned and hissed “…fuck off fossil!” A salutary lesson for any would be middle-aged suitor.

Of course drink is often a key. Mike Owens, also deceased prematurely, would often look out from the pub and putting down his pint remark “that dog, there, he’s on a lead. Must be a detective.” It wasn’t that funny then but reappears whenever I stop to appreciate one of the many paintings of his on the walls around my home.  

Alas almost every time I sit down to pen something for this blog I hear a friend and former colleague who upon learning from me that I had blogged something that could possibly be of interest to him scorched my professional pride with “why would I want to look at that?” Why indeed? Nonetheless I hear those words every time I start something new.

I’ll end with our friend Sonia Morgan gifted with a knack of coining memorable phrases “quelle bliss….” There are so many to choose from each time I see Helen Mirren (Sonia’s doppelgänger) or look up to a nimbus sky, “if the weather is bad just wait an hour.” How about “what am I going to do with a bottle with only a half an inch in it?” Indeed. Or “they say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”

To my numero uno dished out whenever I stepped out of line, that was often “…you sod!”

ho upon learning from me that I had blogged something that could possibly be of interest to him scorched my professional pride with “why would I want to look at that?” Why indeed? Nonetheless I hear those words every time I start something new.

I’ll end with our friend Sonia Morgan gifted with a knack of coining memorable phrases “quelle bliss….” There are so many to choose from each time I see Helen Mirren (Sonia’s doppelgänger) or look up to a nimbus sky, “if the weather is bad just wait an hour.” How about “what am I going to do with a bottle with only a half an inch in it?” Indeed. Or “they say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”

Finally my numero uno dished out whenever I stepped out of line, that I’ll admit was often “…you sod!”