One contributor said the word is "a cross between the words cungie (a sponge type sea creature) and speedos or swimmers". Do with that what you will. Some time later I sneaked into the washroom and carefully rinsed out my underpants with plenty of hot water. It would now be easier to fib and say they got muddy. The consequences of returning home with cum-filled underpants was beyond my imagination!

so it’s official. I guess the Queenslanders were wearing far more sensible, bike short style scungies? Runners, QLD. I used to hate PE lessons at school, being more mature for my age than most of the other girls and much taller, I felt very self conscious and was no good at sports and hated physical activity. I was naturally slim and could not see why any additional exercise was necessary. Since reading Anna Kessel’s ‘ Eat Sweat Play‘ I’ve been thinking about my relationship to sport and exercise throughout my life. It seems a fairly common experience to have detested PE lessons at school.During my secondary school years, I wasdefinitely more arty and musical than sporty. Whilst I never actually bunked lessons, I would put in as little effort as possible and avoid getting sweaty or muddy. My sister made good her promise to totally ignore me in the future, while my mother reminded me of my sins on a daily basis for many months. In the end, completely fed up with the nagging and bad atmosphere, I went into an Army recruiting office and signed on with the Boys’ Service. My mother readily signed the approval forms, saying that it would make a man out of me!

It’s been a while since I posted a memoir-based blog (apart from last month’s ‘Stranded in New York City’), the last one being ‘Four Schools in One Term.’ Outside of school, I briefly dabbled in dancing, karate, running and took swimming lessons up until the age of 12. In fact, I found this photo of me and my Dad taking part a local fun run in 1993. I believe it was 4 miles, but it felt like a marathon at the time!

Farnworth Grammar School broadened my education in more ways than one. Being very unworldly, never having had any close friends, I knew almost nothing about life. Mum had, almost hesitatingly, told me about menstruation, because she hadn’t wanted me to find out the hard way as she’d done. She was nearly 17 before she’d had her first period and thought she had injured herself in some way. The girls at school talked about all sorts of things besides periods. Rather than risk their ridicule of my ignorance, I kept my mouth shut and gradually, by listening, I was able to piece together nuggets of information, the rest I filled in by guesswork. It’s a wonder I haven’t ended up with all sorts of hang-ups because, listening to their stories, I was horrified. I remember thinking, with some embarrassment, that my parents couldn’t possibly do things like that, not any more, for surely they were too old.Sally and I lived in a sort of truce most of the time, with a battle likely to break out at any minute, while our mum tried to keep the peace. However, Sally was a clever girl and eventually went to college to get a degree. She also had inherited Mum’s fastidious attitude to hygiene, washed her hands frequently, and she bathed far more frequently than was necessary in my view! She also changed her clothes frequently, especially her underwear. This was to my advantage as she put her discarded underclothing in the laundry basket in the bathroom. Outdoor activities took place in all weathers, and you usually ended up sweaty, muddy or wet, and sometimes all three. There never seemed to be enough time to change or shower afterwards and the showers were really grotty anyway. On 16th October 2014, I had the pleasure of interviewing one of my all time favourite singer songwriters, poet and author Ralph McTell. I was brought up in a village in Hertfordshire in the 1950s and 60s. I lived with my mother and sister, my dad having taken off to find some excitement when I was quite small. My sister Sally was about a year older than me. Sally tended to look down on me, both because of her age and the fact that I was a mere male! Mum, while she was very kind, was very Victorian in her outlook. She tended to regard any discussing of sexual matters, almost anything below the belt, as rather dirty, and never tried to give me even the slightest hint about puberty or the ‘Facts of Life’!