I am sure that when I was born in April 1963, my parents would never have imagined for a moment that their 10lb bouncing baby girl would become a gangly middle-aged morris dancing punk…
Or is it gangly middle-aged punk morris dancer?
Not that it matters. That’s what I am and I have not found this growing older very easy. My body may be middle-aged going on old and the aches and pains, bad back, worse neck and indifferent hips are all testament to that but my head is still very much late teenage. I never thought growing up would be so difficult or that I would be so bloody stubborn about not doing so. If I am going to get old, it’s going to be without dignity and hopefully as disgracefully as possible.
I started this blog when I accidentally locked the car with the keys in the ignition and had to get a taxi home to get the spare set. I actually don’t like the blog about that incident but it was a start. That’s where the title came from and you will be pleased to know that I have now bettered that: leaving the keys in the ignition and the car locked in a supermarket car park. This time I left the engine running. Next time, who knows?
But punk and morris dancing (and locking the keys in the car) are not the be all and end all to me, although they’re both close. I have other interests – at the moment Sims3 with various add ons takes up way too much of my life and I’m a bit partial to Opera, Folk Music and other sorts of music (although NOT R&B) and I really enjoy cooking and … baking – well, I can’t get enough of that – both the making and the eating.
So that is a brief account of myself. If you have read this but not read the blogs, do feel free to give them a try. They will tell you more. Most of them are true but some are not (the one involving the duct tape is not, for instance). I hope they are readable but I am not the best judge of that. You are. Please let me know if you like them. I always respond well to praise (and flattery).
Cheers
Rennie
Formerly Rene
Growing Old Without Dignity 
Dear Rennie, don’t ask me how I stumbled upon your blogs, I actually have no idea! I must have been googling Bromley Skinheads or something like that, and came across your story involving the Skinheads from the Coppice Estate in Bromley.
I live on the Coppice now (Laburnum Way) and we are around the same age. I was born in 1962, but was originally a ‘Cray girl’. I live in my husbands old family home, as he bought it through the Councils right to buy, way back when, and he was one of the original Coppice boys , although he is a little older than me, he was born in 1958. His name is Terry Foster. I read out some of your story about the boy called Paul, who you called Big Ears, and he thinks it might have been Paul Danaher, as he says he used to be a punk??. He also remembers Spittle! I just thought I would speak to you and let you know that your blogs are actually being read by people, namely me!! Even if it was just by pure coincidence!! How strange that I came across it eh?
It was lovely to read your story.
Best wishes, and keep up your amazing stories, you have a great memory. I sometimes lay in bed and remember little snippets of my teenage years, mostly around Orpington And Bromley, and a face or a name comes to mind. The power of Facebook is great and I have come across many old names from the past by doing a little ‘snooping’ on friends of friends FB pages!
Best wishes again.
Julie Foster (nee Gregory)
Hi, me again. I guess you have never seen my comment above, even though I had a notification a few weeks ago that you had made some new posts. Hoping that by me sending this message you may see the above message! Best wishes. Julie (on the Coppice)
Hi Julie. Thanks for commenting again. Another thing about the Coppice was that was where my doctor’s surgery was. She was called Dr Berger. Paul or Big Ears was a skinhead. He had an older brother if I remember rightly. Spittle’s real name was Nigel! It was a great time!