E-Mail: johnwwalton@hotmail.co.uk

Wednesday 29 February 2012

Tales of a Young John: #1 - The Recky (Part 1)

So this is to become a regular little feature on the blog, where I look back at my memories growing up, and try to figure out a bit more about WHY I am WHO I am today. Now that that's out of the way, let's get on with the first 'episode'.

#1: The Recky (Part One)
Growing up in Loughborough was alright as a kid. I mean, I lived there for most of my childhood, and the majority of my Mum's side of the family - my aunts, Uncle, Grandparents, cousins etc - all lived on either the same road, or within no more than five minutes walk of each other. This meant that growing up, I was never far from family, who became best friends over the years. It also meant there was very little reason not to knock about with someone on our local playground, which we called 'The Recky'.

So knock about we did; most days, in fact, and almost exclusively this took place on the recky. This was partly because it was a lot of fun; with it's big swings, roundabout and jungle gym; but mostly because, at six years old, I was the senior child in the family. Our parents had rules about how far we could go, and the recky - located at the back of a council estate-level cul de sac - was to us what Mordor was for the Shirefolk. Again, distance wasn't the only factor - in hindsight it was grotty. Really, really grotty.

And this is where I learned one of my first rude words (I mean, obviously, my first word was shit, and that was closely followed by fuck, but ythat's another story). Whilst playing a game one day, I found myself hiding under the jungle gym in one of it's many crawlspaces. These were heavily graffiti-ed with peoples names and numerous versions of "'insert name here' <3's 'insert name here' 4 Lyf!", but one piece of artwork stuck with me in particular. Someone had taken the time to draw a man's face with a very accurate penis for a nose, which was labelled "Nobcheese". Now, as a child I didn't quite grasp the rudeness of the drawing, thinking only that this funny arrangement of letters must be someones' name. But no, "Nobcheese" was, and still is, an insult, which my mum VERY firmly told me, after making me swear never to repeat it again, especially in front of my Grandma.

I do find myself wondering, though; is that cheeky, cocky face (see what I did there) still etched into the jungle gym now, teaching whole new generations of people the word? I like to think so, because I certainly don't want to be the only one who earned a good hiding from it!

Thursday 23 February 2012

So It's 5am


So it's 5am on Friday morning. I have a deadline at 4pm for the first draft of a documentary that my group has barely been able to start, I'm going to the gym straight after that and then in the evening, I am meant to be going clubbing. Every sane person would be asleep by now, but not me. Let me explain:

I woke up at 1pm on Thursday afternoon after a very hard week of editing and late nights at University, grabbed a load of equipment that needed returning - a Canon XH A1, shotgun microphone etc - and left the house, feeling very smug that I'd managed to remember to take everything with me, including those three XLR cables that I always seem to forget to return, resulting in a trifling yet niggling three pound fine. It would be reasonable to say that I was feeling very smug about myself. What I didn't know, however, was that in my haste I'd forgotten to take that most necessary of objects; my house key.

Now, I had not noticed this at the time, as I made sure my housemates locked the door behind me since my hands were full. So, I got to University and remained here - for here I still am - until around midnight, when I decided "enough was enough, it's time to go home!" However, upon arriving home, I found that my phone was out of battery, my keys were still in the house, along with my bank card and wallet, and all of my housemates were in bed. Oh yes, and the door was locked.

Not wanting to wake up one housemate as he seemed to have finally beaten his insomnia, and with the other safely tucked up in the attic room beyond my audible reach, I returned back to University, where I fine tuned an edit, tried to understand gangsta language, danced to Jessie J and learned that the DMU wireless will not let me watch online television. I am now thoroughly knackered, and despite my gratitude to Lucy and Katie for keeping me 'cyber-company', I am feeling a little bit disgruntled, and a lot like a stupid twat.