High Noon at the loo.

Do you know, I often wonder who are the 346 people who read my blog today. There is no way of finding out. 

I can see where a lot of them come from and what search engines they use, but there are only so many actual posts they show. There could easily be one view on every post I ever wrote – that's not true as there are 80 hits from the first ten posts it shows,

I was looking at a movie, the other day, and realised I went to the movies in my mother's arms. I'm sure of it, if not I went as a toddler in Ireland. 

When we lived in England we would go back to Ireland for the summer, to Finglas, and on Saturday mornings we would go to the local little picture house, I don't remember if it was a put up temporary job cinema, but the film would break down constantly.

When it did, it was the best part of the morning, because the projectionist was very funny – who knows, he might have become a comedian later in his life; when the break was mended, we knew the film was about to start as the lights in the cinema went slowly out, then the screen would be lit and then . . . the film would come on. 

But the projectionist would be telling us jokes and making us laugh and then he would say 'all ready to go' or something like that.

The lights would go out, the screen would be lit and then . . . ha ha ha – it was him laughing.

Sometimes he would get us to count 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and then . . . the same laugh again. I think we even sang songs. I don't know where in Finglas it was but it was there.

As a child going with my mother, I didn't know what those people on the screen were, whether they were some kind of robots, or dead people or some kind of otherland where creepy crawlies would creep about, where people could fly and die. - die for a living, that's rich.

When I was at junior school in Birmingham, I would go to my imagination and think that everyone in the class was an actor, waiting to be called for our next role, rather like some agency, now I think of it, and then I would ask to go to the loo and that was some kind of calling to go and act.

Into the playground I would go, which was a hard surface – tarmac – and at the other end of the playground were the boys' loos. 

Very slowly, and in a Gary Cooper, type of walk, I would walk to the loo bum buppa bum buppa bum buppa bum.

Such was life in my mind in those days – and I've already mentioned the Superman cloak under my bed in a previous post.