A couple of days ago an old lag from the class of 65 contacted me. He was propping up the bar in the newly re-opened (yet again) Millhouses Hotel when he looked out of the pub window, and thought his dreams had come true at last, albeit 47 years too late.
Where once stood a mighty citadel of academic excellence and/or a blight on the butt of post war education (cross out where applicable) there was only a pile of rubble.
He did not contact me straight away with this great news as he prefers supping beer (a common failing amongst the 65'ers)but he let me know once he'd come round.
I of course legged it across Sheffield and saw one of the finest sites ever - photo's below
Whilst I sat on a wall in Hastings Road smoking a large cigar and laughing at the madness of Britain in the twenty-first century, I had "visions" which is worrying development at my time of life. The mountain of rubble that was once a bastion (I think that is the right word) of scholarly endeavour should be grassed over and at the top a sculpture/statue should be commissioned. For instance it could depict a local government officer closely clutching a bulging brown envelope or a group of mean spirited camel-coated property- developers lying prostrate at the feet of an impassive St Margaret of Thatcher or a old shabby florid-faced man filling his pipe with a pinch of ready-rub or a small bewildered schoolboy with a tear running down his face.