Kids in the UK got their A-Level results yesterday (apart from Scotland maybe, I think they have a different school system); I got mine this day in 1996, a day before my 18th birthday.
The gang (John, Paul, George and Ringo) and I had previously arranged to go to school to get our results dressed in old suits, preferably 1970s-style in weird colours and with big collars. On the day, only John actually did it. He wasn't too pleased when we all turned up at his house wearing normal clothes and he looked like Jason King.
We went to school and got our results. We all got what we needed to get to the universities we had applied for, apart from Ringo, but he got the grades to get to his second/reserve choice. I got two As, a C and a D (30 UCAS points). I only needed 16 points. We saw some other friends too and everyone was pretty happy with their results as far as I can remember.
We then went to George's house for drinks. His parents were on holiday in France. Without him. We raided their drinks cabinet, but all there was was Tia Maria. We drank the bottle anyway. Feeling invigorated, we ventured on to everyone else's houses to tell our parents the results.
We then headed into town to continue the drinking at our usual haunts. We expected to see the rest of our school year out having a good time too, but we didn't see any of them for the rest of the day. I don't know what they were doing. Losers. One person we did see was one of the younger teachers (let's call her Miss Moneypenny) from our school, who had taught John, Paul and George. We ended up hanging out with her for a few hours. Miss Moneypenny bought us all drinks and shared her menthol cigarettes with us, though none of us normally smoked.
One of my uncles had recently taken over a pub and had started a cricket team, for which I played. The team had a match that day at 6pm (at Leek Hockey Club). So, at around 5.45pm, we said goodbye to Miss Moneypenny and left the pub. We had been there since about 1.30pm. It became apparent as we got outside that we were all pretty wasted, but isn't that always the way?
John decided to come with me to the match, Paul, George and Ringo all went home. John and I reached Leek Hockey Club late, a bit after 6pm. It turned out we only had nine players, which included me (very drunk) and my uncle, who had recently been in an accident and had his left arm in plaster. I asked my uncle if John could play to make up the numbers. I turned around to see if John was up for it but he was lying on the floor, either passed out or asleep. We just left him there.
Our team was batting, so I had a bit of time to sober up. Though, as it turned out, not much time, as we soon slumped to 15 for 7 wickets. I got the pads off the previously dismissed batsman (we only had two pairs) and made my way to the middle.
I'm more of a bowler than a batsman. My approach to batting is to defend anything straight and slog at anything wide. First ball I got was wide of off stump so I had a big heave at it. I sliced it a fair distance and we managed 2 runs. If I hadn't been drunk we could have easily got 3, maybe 4. Second ball up was much the same, though I got a weaker connection and we only managed to get 1 run. My uncle was now on strike, batting one handed. The next ball went through his feeble defences and knocked the stumps over. We were 18 all out. I top scored with 3 not out.
We decided not to have a mid-innings break and carried straight on with the match. I was sent to field on the boundary, which was a wire fence to keep animals out of the hockey club's cricket and hockey pitches. Almost immediately, I threw up, though I did manage to put my head over the wire fence as I did it, so as not to sully the outfield. The menthol cigarettes left a strong aftertaste, which covered the usual vomity taste but gave a different and just as bad sensation. The ball did get hit towards me a couple of times and I managed to field the ball OK. The other team only needed three overs to reach the target score. I think I threw up three times too.
The normal practise after matches was to head back to my uncle's pub for drinks and sandwiches, but I decided to go home. We woke John up. Someone gave us a lift back to my house in the trailer on the back of their car. John said he would be OK to walk home, so we said goodbye. I went to bed to sleep.
I was woken at about 9pm by George, who had come around with some cans of beer. I felt much better after my sleep, though I could still taste the menthol cigarettes. We had a couple of beers and talked. I don't remember what about, but it was a nice low-key end to a crazy day, which had been a memorable end to my adolescence.
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