It Goes Where?

Danny King

It makes me laugh all the controversy there is today surrounding the teaching of sex education to under-threes by the PC brigade. See, it doesn't matter in the slightest what age the government, your teachers or your parents decide you're ready to hear about ‘making babies’, the chances are your mates have got there first.

The fact is, it is you and your peers' responsibility to scare the shit out of each other with wild stories about your genitals and what are expected of them until school can get a hold of you and set the record straight.

Peter Colson was the lad that pointed me in the wrong direction - him and Terry Allen. It was a lazy summer's afternoon way back in 1979 and we were relaxing on top of a garage roof after a leisurely mornings ant broiling. We were ten, naive and, at the time, only casual smokers.

It all started with Terry: ‘I hear you love Alison Pine,’ he sniggered, pointing the finger at me. This was fucking slander. We were still at the age where all we wanted to do with girls was push them off swings and kick them up the arse. They were horrible and we hated them. Gangs of chubby little screechers who roamed the playgrounds looking for lads to chase and kiss were the bane of our pre-hormonal existence. And they were getting worse. Recently they'd introduced pincer movements and ambush tactics into their game so that hardly a day went by when we weren't pursued by a flock of skirts intent on smothering us with sloppy kisses.