Oh yes, I completely needed this. A day off. I didn't have to do anything. I didn't have to be anywhere. I had 24 hours for myself. Well 23, because the government stole one of them off me. Taxation is getting ridiculous. I need more hours, not less. I trust you will sort out this deficit and give me one back by the autumn at the latest. Or I shall be making a sizeable donation to UKIP!
So not much to tell you about. I had a little look through a folder of old letters that I had sent to my grandparents that my parents recently returned to me. There's definitely another show and/or book in my year off. One letter from the 2nd October 1985 is from the first archaeological dig I went on, in which I try to paint a picture of the pretentious volunteer diggers I am working with, but do a better job of showing up my own ostentation.
"The people are mostly very nice," I tell them, "There is the odd rather snobbish person. For example while I was digging the other day I started singing "Die Lotusblume" by Schumann. The lady next to me, knowing I came from Somerset said, "Oh, did you go to Millfield?"" (the posh public school nearby)
""No," I replied, "I went to a comprehensive."
"Oh," she said, looking down her nose, "I didn't know they had that kind of music at comprehensive school."
Well I was tempted to say something like, "Oh yes, it's my turn to read the book next month!""
Whilst this woman may be a little snobbish, what an hilarious and hypocritical young man I was. As if I was just casually singing Schumann songs whilst working! I was showing off, probably for the benefit of the pretty Dutch girl I fancied on the dig. I mean I still like myself for trying and I do recall the Dutch girl and myself were constantly trying to impress one another with our love of art and literature, even though I was actually more interested in seeing her breasts. But I love that image of me kneeling there, singing songs from my music lessons (I used to sing light opera and did exams and concerts), daring to be so presumptuous about the snobbishness of the woman next to me.
In amongst the letters is one which is written in childish lettering on an envelope and is a rather over familiar missive to the tooth fairies (I seem to think there is more than one of them, though suspect I knew there was no such thing given how off hand I am).
It says
"TO FAIRIES
TOOTH
MONEY
PLEASE
TA
Richard
TOOTH UNDER
YELLOW PILLOW"
I believe I was 28 years old when I wrote that.
I think the tooth fairies would have been within their rights to not give me anything due to my presumptuousness.
But what I've just realised picking up the envelope is that my tiny little milk tooth is still inside it. Which I don't understand. Because surely the tooth fairies should have taken it away with them, to do whatever it is that they do with all those tiny teeth (I am sure someone must have explored that idea - it's a bit spooky and odd when you think about it). But why would they take the envelope and the tooth and then just leave it amongst my other letters? It makes no sense.
I am glad they left it though. It's rather sweet, if a little unsettling to see that tooth that I parted company with over 30 years ago. It's hard to believe something so little could ever have fitted in my big mouth.
