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INTRODUCTION

At Woolton village fete I met him. I was a fat schoolboy and, as he leaned an arm on my shoulder, I realised that he was drunk. We were twelve then, but, In spite of his sideboards, we went on to become teenage pals.
Aunt Mimi, who had looked after him since he was so high, used to tell me how he was cleverer than he pretended, and things like that. He had written a poem for the school magazine about a hermit who said: “as breathing is my life, to stop I dare not dare”.
This made me wonder right away —“Is he deep?”. He wore gla**es so it was possible, and even without them there was no holding him. “What ’bus?”, he would say to howls of appreciative laughter.
He went to Quarry Bank High School for Boys and later attended to the Liverpool Art College. He left school and played with a group called the Beatles, and, here he is with a book. Again I think —“Is he deep?”. “Is he arty, with it or cultured?”.
There are bound to be thickheads who will wonder why some of it doesn’t make sense, and others who will search for hidden meanings.
“What’s a Brummer?”.
“There’s more to ‘dubb owld boot’ than meets the eye”.
“None of it has to make sense and if it seems funny then that’s enough”.

Paul
P.S. I like the drawings too.

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