When I was at school, the matrics liked to roll marbles at their final assembly. The schoolboys all thought this was great fun but the teachers – and the deputy head in particular – not so much. I did not think that the deputy head’s face, who suffered from chronic alcoholism and was nicknamed “bottles”, could go any redder but the sound of a single marble rolling down the Memorial Hall was the trigger that would turn him purpler than Barney the Dinosaur after a long day in the sun*.
Continue reading “What’s in a name? (A Eulogy to the Jackie Gibson Marathon)”What’s in a name? (A Eulogy to the Jackie Gibson Marathon)
