Memories and Memoirs

My life has been fairly eventful and it's hard to believe I've only lived 18 years, 9 months and 17 days.. I've had a fair few experiences in my time, gained and lost friends, broken a nose and gone through the "bad man" stage, luckily when I was fairly young.. It's been good fun!

I went to Hazeldene Lower School. We had a bitter rivalry with Hills because the schools were next to each other and we used to spend our lunchtimes chucking crazybones over the road at the Hills Lower School kids when we were 8 and then stopped as they became "all the rage". In my mind, it was just a bit of what we'd now call, "banter", though I believe some kids from both sides really took the mental battles very seriously. Things came to a stop eventually though when a Hills Lower School kid nearly got hit by a Lexus while attempting to cross the road. That taught us a lesson and I went back to playing football like a normal kid. Either that, or swinging on the monkey bars and walking up the beam we had on the very solid concrete playground. I found out it was actually fairly hard when I landed face first after slipping off the monkey bars on a damp October day. These days, Health and Safety would be all over that, but this was 1998 and Tony Blair was too busy planning his invasion of Kosovo. Even I knew that at the time and I was only 7. When I wasn't outside causing havoc amongst the Year 4's defence with my blistering skills, I was inside, learning. It was a school after all. I distinctly remember throwing a ruler at someone but Ms.Proctor, our English teacher, (and also our Maths, Science, Geography, Music and P.E teacher), was too busy talking to the wall. Literally. She was always a bit barmy that lady.. Another person I spent a lot of time with at Hazeldene was a lady called Mrs.Dent. I have never found out what her first name was.. When I was young I had trouble with word pronunciation, (although I never said that word at the time..) so I spent most of the time when everyone else was in assembly to work on my R's and S's with Mrs Dent. One day, I came out of my special class to go out to break and there was no one in sight. I thought a nuclear bomb had struck without me noticing. However, the whole school had been kept behind in assembly for talking too much so I had the whole playground to myself! Bagsy the Monkey Bars!

During this time, I was developing a friendship with a couple of people who lived down my road. Carl, (who is still a friend of mine these days) and a younger chappy called Rhys. Technically, Carl lived down the alleyway but me and Rhys lived opposite each other, and still do, but back in the day, when I wasn't allowed down the alleyway to go and play on the green in fear of peadophiles, me and Rhys played our made-up game on the street. Entitled 'Man U vs Inter Milan', we'd always re-enact a champions league final that had never happened. I was always Inter because I had a fascination with Fat Ronaldo and his teeth.. His garage would be his goal and my garage would be mine.. They were fairly large for children of our age but we were not bothered. Providing the commentary as we played our 1v1 game, dodging in and out of speeding Lotus', (I'm only joking of course), we played out the full 90 minutes and usually it would end up going to penalties. Then I'd let him win, because he was younger and we'd all be happy. Just as long as Fat Ronaldo wound up with a double hat-trick by the end of normal time.. However, you can only play on the street for so long and the time had come where I was allowed to walk down the smallest alleyway in living history to go and play on stuff called "grass". I was fascinated. Me, Carl and Rhys usually played 'Knockout', with me in goal as I loved it and it was great fun. Sometimes things got a bit heated and arguments broke out about whether Rhys had scored 4 or 5 goals, but most of the time it was fantastic! Sometimes though, as is usually the case with field football, the ball goes over someone's wall and as the ball was the special World Cup 2002 ball worth £60, I was the one who had to climb over to get it.. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a bad climber but imagine the reaction of this poor person as he sees a mud-caked 11 year old climb over his wall and nick a ball before climbing back over again... I ended up doing it twice and the 2nd time he hit me with one of those fly-swatters as I climbed back over...

When we weren't playing football, we were being young morons and playing knock-knock ginger and when we had got bored of running away, we played a similar game called 'Garden Gnomes'.. Now, for those of you not familiar with 'Garden Gnomes', its basically the same as knock-knock ginger, except you don't run away and instead, hide behind the wall or a tree of some sort and when the victim opens the door, you chant a chorus of, "We're your gnomes, your lovely friendly gnomes", before pelting it! At the time it was very funny for 12 year olds but I imagine it wasn't the best of experiences for the people we played the prank on.. Those were the days...

Going back a year or two before that, I had experienced my first ever Champions League Final as a Man Utd fan. The amazing year of 1999 was the year for all United fans. Every Red Devils fan around the world was glued to their TV screens as Carsten Jancker bulleted in a free kick 6 minutes in. Except me. I had been grounded for stealing £8.50 out of my Dad's wallet to buy a pre-owned version of Rayman 2 for the PS1.. I knew it was wrong but everyone else was already on the 4th world and I couldn't bear to see them get further away.. releasing all those cute little animals along the way.. So I was locked up in my bedroom, listening to a bad signal on the radio, (I didn't yet have a TV in my room) while listening to my dad's shout at the TV below telling Jaap Stam to "get his act together!" Thankfully, after 75 minutes of play, my Dad felt his son should witness what he said was going to be the "most famous comeback in Champions League history". He was right. Until Liverpool in 2005 anyway... I went ballistic as Teddy Sheringham slotted away a 90th minute equaliser before watching Ole Solskjaer prod in a 93rd minute winner and running up and down the street, whooping with delight. I was delighted. But not as delighted as Dad who was literally crying.. It was the first time I had ever seen my Dad cry..

One of my most favourite places on Earth was the lovely and family-friendly, Torquay. Most of our summer holidays were spent in the Devon seaside town and some of my fondest memories lie in that place. From when I was 6 and the go-kart incident where I felt like a film star being filmed by Dad and his video camera. Incidentally, that's where the phrase, "Can you see me?" became a legendary phrase amongst the Carr family. Everyone else who hears it are like, "Hey?" Anyway, we used to stay at a leisure complex, TLH Leisure Resorts, Victoria Hotel, Room 115, just a small walk down the corridor to the humungous dining room, every year. Once they tried to put us in some dark and loud room on the 2nd floor but we were having none of it and within 2 days we were back where we belonged. The family room. Room 115. This complex had everything. 4 swimming pools, tennis courts, a cricket pitch, it's own little pitch and putt, a full-size football pitch, indoor bowls, 3 arcades, ten-pin bowling by the dozen and a special 'Aztec' zone. I never went in there, I was too busy fuelling my gambling habit on the Italian Job slot machine. One year, in 2004 if I remember correctly, the Italian Job machine was clearly broken because I won Jackpot with every spin. Literally every spin. I walked home with my jeans nearly round my ankles because the pockets were full to the brim with pound coins. I had won £85 so gave it all to my parents and said, "Break even." Lovely! Torquay holds some of my greatest memories and I would love to go back there in the future to re-live them.

Sport has always been a huge part of my life. Football especially. I used to play for a team called Bedford Park Rangers and I always looked forward to tour time. End of the season, we'd spend a weekend in some seaside resort. Weston-Super-Mare springs immediately to mind because we had 3 teams entered, Blues, Reds and Whites. For some reason, the manager wanted us to dye our hair in our team colours. Blue and Red look OK, if a bit wacky, but dying your hair white when you're 12 years old makes you look like a pensioner who has discovered a great anti-wrinkle cream. It was disastrous! Funny.. but disastrous! That particular trip held a lot of great memories for me. Such as the illegal BBQ we held on the final day. Dave 'Mad-Axe' Carr, as was his nickname, a.k.a My Dad, fired it up in the middle of a caravan site directly in front of the sign that specifically said 'NO BBQ's!' It was brilliant when the warden eventually came over to us, 3 hours after the BBQ had been put out and shouted at him. Also on this trip however, I discovered the opposite sex. I was in the swimming pool, when I saw this other girl wading towards me from the other end, she looked about the same age as me and she was very pretty. My eyes were fixed on her as she was coming towards me. She stopped next to me. "Are you using that surfboard?" .. "err.. no it's all yours!" .. "Thanks! Nice hair." I maintain that white/grey spray paint had ruined my chance with my first love! Those BPR tours were awesome and hold as many memories as my summer holidays to Torquay.

Being an avid sportsman though, brings with it a host of injuries. One day, I was 11 and we were holding our very own version of the British Grand Prix round the block. Me and Luke Gardener were battling for pole position in the penultimate lap. I remember giving it my all round the back straight of the course. We were moving at some speed when it came up to the dreaded bollards. 4 of them lined up, specifically placed as a hazard by the local council, me and Luke were fighting for a space that only fitted one bike. Who would get there first? He did... I went careering straight into the 3rd bollard and flew off my bike and landed nose-first on the tree-trunk ahead and then for good measure, my bike landed on top of me. I was covered, and I mean COVERED, in blood. Luke didn't care, he was about to get his maiden Grand Prix victory! Me though, I had a nose shaped like a pear and I seem to remember a knee I couldn't walk on. The other people in this "race" whizzed by, not a care in the world. What was happening? I shouted "Help me!" a lot of times and eventually an old man came out of his house and offered me a helping hand. By this stage, my white Man Utd away shirt looked more like their red home kit and my knee was hanging at a strange, acute angle. I was taken to A&E by Mum and a week later I was back on the football pitch, wearing a protective mask and incidentally scored 2 headers! A fair few years later, I became friends with the granddaughter of the old man who had helped me and it became an anecdote to tell on a rainy day.

At this stage, I was still friends with Carl and Rhys although I had many more friends by this stage. The threesome were becoming more drifted apart as Rhys became more "gangster" and spent most of his time trying to impress Carl, by bullying me. Now, I don't like confessing I was bullied by someone 2 years younger than me, but that was the case. Carl laughed along and I really wasn't very happy with it all. One day, it all got a little too much and I ended up giving Rhys a right hook before running home in tears. Later that evening, Rhys came round and apologised for provoking me and I refused to apologise back claming "he deserved everything he got". He had a huge black eye and just walked off. We never spoke again and the friendship group just collapsed. I remained friends with Carl, on and off, and we speak occasionally nowadays although he is busy getting his Law Degree at the moment. Always a nice chap was Carl and I maintain it was just children being stupid when he was laughing along with Rhys. I don't have time for people like Rhys these days though. They get on my nerves. My days as being the bad boy were done.

Since then, I have always tried my best to remain calm with people and not to go off the handle like I did the day I gave that, quite frankly, very good right hook. I try very hard to not get angry at people and since then I have only been properly angry only once. Once in 4 years. Not too bad. And even that angry episode was drink-fuelled and the only thing I punched was the Debenhams window at 4am. It hurt but it didn't cause any damage.

It's hard to get round the fact that I've only been alive for 18 years. I've got so much longer to live and many more experiences to .. experience. As Ronan Keating once said, Life is a Rollercoaster and you've just got to ride it.