Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Sex education in the sixties. A red herring.

As a six year old my entire knowledge of things sexual was obtained from eight year old boys in the school playground, they having been informed at six years old themselves. In the same fashion this information had been passed down, year on year, since Edward first confessed in 1066. This information was of course to be believed because it came with the declaration: It's true. Cross my heart and hope to die in a cellar full of rats'.

At age 11 my mother tried to disabuse me of my illicitly gained knowledge by placing on my pillow  a booklet on the reproductive cycle of fruit flies ,which I assumed, was where she got her knowledge from.

How on earth, I wondered, could a grown woman with six children (there was nothing in the publication about contraception.) think that fruit flies were anything to do with sex stuff. And furthermore the booklet did not contain the declaration: Cross my heart and hope to die.....

It could only be a lie or a red herring at best.


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