From teenage paperboy to 33-year-old columnist, one more dream ticked off the list
So here I am doing a column for the LEP – another tick off the career wish list.
Now I can fully focus on my other comedy aspirations of; selling out the Charter Theatre for a solo show, selling out the Royal Albert Hall for any sort of show and buying a 2005 Volvo S80 for the great mpg and enhanced motorway comfort. The Evening Post.
I’m pleased as punch. It’s the much-loved publication that I doggedly delivered come rain or shine, ice or lethargy, on my evening paper round circa 1993-1996.
I’m glad to be involved once again. Grateful that it’s not on the delivery side of things, admittedly. Paperboy looks like a strange career twist at 33, but I enjoyed it back in the day.
That was nearly 20 years ago! Oh good grief that dates me, as does the fact that Dianne’s on Liverpool Road in Penwortham, the newsagents who I gave my best pedalling years to, is now a pet shop.
That was a difficult place not to blow a week of paper round earnings. They stocked a stunning amount of penny sweets.
I was a sucker for fried eggs, literally. I do remember, though, that I spent the £5 note I earned as my first ever pay packet on a brand new cricket ball from the sports shop next door.
It was a wonderfully shiny Gray-Nicholls leather affair that I was immensely proud of and lost in a hedge within the fortnight.
The sports shop in question is now half of an Italian restaurant.
Oh dear. I’ve turned into that person, reminiscing about what used to be where and how I remember when all of Higher Penwortham was fields.
That’s one of the first signs of ageing. Bring it on I say.
I moved back to Preston three months ago, after living in Manchester and Chester for 13 years or so.
I actually now live on my old paper round, with my sister and her boyfriend and my nephew, because things are going really well.
My Dad’s just down the road in Tarleton, Granddad ‘Pop’ is in Longton.
He’s a committed Post reader and has taken great care over the last few years to save my clippings.
This regular piece will send him into overdrive. He will, though, be near mortified to hear of a perfectly good cricket ball being lost to a hedge, even if it was all those years ago.
He’s a huge cricket fan and toiled for years against my lack of talent as a cricketer. I think he gave up as my coach when I reached about 11.
I lacked timing and strength, but persisted with my reckless ‘slog at all cost’ tactic.
He’ll be a VIP at my as yet unbooked Charter Theatre solo show, if I get a move on.
And I’ve just decided that at said show there will be complimentary penny sweets for all. Penny sweets are obviously now more expensive though, often two pencea time. So we’ll have to look at the budget.
And this has just made me realise that paperboys/girls will be suffering the effects of this confectionary inflation, so I hope you tipped yours at Christmas.
And if not tip him/her or at Easter, the fried eggs will at least be in season by then.
That is all.