Autobiographical

First of all, apologies to subscribers and readers for the gap between blog entries. I suppose I could attribute the delay to the holiday season or a packed schedule in early January. The truth is, I penned this text last summer and was loathe at first to open up fully. However, who knows, it may prove helpful to someone out there! If only I had known the great confidence coach Russell Edwards back then! I would definitely turn to him now in such circumstances.

After the harrowing experience of Chris C and the adverse psychological impact at the time and for years to come, I want to turn to brighter planes. One of the major joys of childhood was the annual foreign holiday at the end of school in late July for a few weeks. 

My mum and dad would always take the family camping to Europe – it was the cheapest option. Owing to the foreign exchange controls reinforced after the end of World War II and updated by the Labour Government in 1966, remaining in place until their abolition in 1979, a family could not take more than 50 pounds sterling in currency and 15 pounds sterling in cash. While that money went much further than today, naturally, it still implied the need to bring a considerable amount of tinned food for cooking on a gas stove in camp sites. 

It was a good way to see Europe, with visits to towns primarily in France, Germany and Italy. On one occasion the car broke down and insurance covered a week at a posh hotel resort in Austria. In general though we would travel through France on our way to spend two weeks not far from a beach near Cesenatico on the Adriatic coast of Italy. 

One of the benefits for the kids was getting to spend time with mum and particularly dad away from his study with us in the fresh air, meeting new people, as well as practising French and basic Italian from playing table tennis and table football.

On the way back home from Italy in 1978, we stayed at a campsite south of Paris where horses and pigs would come sniffing up to the tents and you would get fresh milk from a family farm down the road. There was also a wooden outdoor building where I spent most the free time playing table tennis and met a stunning blonde called Isabelle Barillon. I was so timid, but felt confident enough playing the game. Then we corresponded for a while. She sent a me a postcard the following February, saying that she loved me. On the verge of turning 15 and finishing my O’ levels early in July that year, my dad suggested I start my A’ levels and then study in France for six months from January 1980 at a boarding school during the week and with a family at weekends. Then I could drop down a year and complete my A levels over two years. Naturally I said yes.

I went for an interview in Paris and was accepted. Then I went to meet up with Isabelle, spending a wonderful time at the Pompidou Centre and walking around France’s capital, but was too shy to kiss her even though Isabelle brought me back to her room. Naturally she broke it off shortly afterwards. I regret to this day the crippling shyness that I felt based on personal insecurity and a sense of inadequacy and a failure to read the mood. Such a lack of confidence affected other areas of my life, but I learned to cope over time. I didn’t know any confidence coaches back then!

However, I did see Isabelle again a few years later on my return from a summer job in the south of France when we spent an enjoyable afternoon in a massive local subterranean bar in Paris. But that is another story. 

However, I don’t regret the six months studying in France, which were admittedly hellish at first. They changed me for good.