For some reason the subject of class reunions cropped up in the pub last night.
It's not a subject that I have given a great deal of thought to, and have never been to one so I'm hardly an expert.
In a couple of years time there is a remote [extremely remote] possibility that someone may try to organise one for my class, as it will be fifty years since we split up. Half a century since I sat the Leaving Cert? Fuck! Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?
The big question of course is whether I would bother my arse going, if there was one. I suppose there is a half hearted curiosity about how everyone ended up. How many have emigrated never to return? How many achieved their ambitions? How many are dead? Of course I tend to remember those days as being surrounded by spotty teenagers, barely into long pants. It's hard to believe that they would all now be retired [or as I said, dead].
I remember making a pact with one of my pals. We swore on a Beatles record that we would meet up in the main square in Brasilia at midday on the first of January 2000. Needless to say, I didn't bother my arse. I wonder if he's still there waiting, or has he copped that I'm not going to turn up?
I had one great friend in school. We used to pal around in school and around at his house after where we learned the joys of driving an old banger around a field, making home made explosives and smoking. And I can add in here that it wasn't the packaging that got us into the fags – we didn't give a shite what brand it was just so long as we could smoke it. From the day we left school for the last time that was it. We moved on to pastures new and I only saw him once since and had little or nothing to say.
I did become firm friends with one classmate after we left. We had hardly spoken in school but later became firm buddies. For years we had some great escapades. He was the Best Man at my wedding and I at his. One evening his missus came home early and caught him climbing down the next door neighbour's drainpipe. He has been dipping his wick on his own doorstep as it were. He disappeared then and I haven't seen him since.
I only ever met one other classmate. We hardly took any notice of each other at school. He was the very quiet, studious one who was nearly always top of the class. One day I had to call into the local presbytery to get something signed and there he was. Apparently he had been the local curate for some time. I explained that I didn't know that, as I wasn't a Mass goer and had given up on religion. "Like myself" he replied glumly. I heard after that he had left the priesthood and vanished into the pale blue yonder. I wonder if I had anything to do with that?
So would I want to meet up with a small handful of overweight, balding old farts whose names I can't even remember? Would I want to spend an evening reminiscing about old teachers I would rather forget?
I think I'd give it a miss.