Irish. Fourteen years of language, grammar, poetry and literature study. Only useful to me in that I had to pass the exam to qualify for University. Beautiful but ultimately useless. I used to be fluent, but now it is almost entirely forgotten.
Dissecting a Rat’s testicle. Come the day of reckoning I may struggle to explain this pointless exercise away.
Binary, hex, octal (very) occasionally, but yeah, everything else is a waste of mental space, and frankly my job is a bit niche to start with.
[Fact free reminiscence]
Tangentially, I remember many patient explanations from Dad that the cuisenaire rods he’d read about and bought for me would unlock the understanding of mathematics. Neither of us had a clue what to do with them.
They never made the grade as either physical or intellectual building blocks for me. I guess Tetris has replaced them now.
OTOH, I’d been working 20+ years before the vectors and manipulation of matrices routines I’d learnt and forgotten, suddenly became essential.
Could still the draw the circuit diagram of a doorbell through endless repetition at school.
Totally redundant in life, but still sticks in the craw since if they’d included resistors, capacitors, understanding, etc, it could have been useful.
According to my Australian geography teacher, it’s a billabong.
Redditch was the centre of the UK and the world’s pins and needles industry.
My geography teacher was a bit of a cunt making you learn shit like that.
For some strange reason, when I think of French lessons, the sentence “Je suis le phantom de la maison” always springs to mind. This has come in extremely fucking handy when I’ve wanted to haunt folk when on holidays over there
Funny that, when I think of French lessons, something entirely different comes to mind…
Yeah, well - I went to an all boys boarding school
I went to an all boys school too.
I went to an all boys school too, but there was a girls school down the road and I did my gymnastics with the KE girls in Handsworth
Our French teacher was called Miss Golightly
I went to a boys’ school as well. We had young female French assistants, who were basically figures of lust for all the boys and marriage material for the younger teachers. We were extremely jealous of the younger teachers.
We didn’t have any female teachers unfortunately, but there were some domestic support staff (mostly young Irish girls) who were similarly lusted after.
The thing that I hated the most was the army cadet training we had two afternoons a week. This meant having a short back and sides haircut which was strictly enforced. This was in the late 60s/early70s when everyone I knew wanted to grow their hair long.
Pretty fucking ironic given I started balding in my 30s…
I’ve all but blanked school from my memory.
Its not been blanked, it’s been replaced by coffee faff and paraphernalia.
Having seen you make a cup of coffee the Chemistry practical lessons obviously left a mark.
And a few other things, as many as possible really!