tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post6249099154836695134..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Maggie’s YearKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-86056668156531112952017-02-13T02:51:03.382+00:002017-02-13T02:51:03.382+00:00I was still living at home at seventeen. I didn’t ...I was still living at home at seventeen. I didn’t go to uni. My dad talked me out of it and I never forgave him. In later years he himself said he regretted not sending me (his choice of verb) which was a rarity; Dad was not one for apologising. I started work the day after I left school at sixteen and three months later I was unemployed and at a total loss with what to do with my life. I’d always wanted to be an architect. From the first day I sat at a desk in Techie Drawing I knew this was all I wanted to do. I know some kids dither but not me. But here’s the thing. Drawing in an office with pens not much thicker than a hair and drawing with a pencil are two different things. I couldn’t make the transition and I never forgave the school for not forewarning me. It was like being taught to juggle with beanbags only to find out you were required to use flaming swords. So I quit after three months or it might’ve been six. I quit before they sacked me and my boss admitted that was the way it was heading: I was neither quick nor accurate enough. (For the record I got 98% in my O-Level.) I was bereft. And it was the seventies too remember and jobs were hard to come by. So for a while I made my fortnightly trek to the labour exchange and wondered what I was going to do with the rest of my life. As it happens a family friend told me of a job in the civil service which I applied for and it turned out that I was even happier there pushing papers around than I had been in the architects. It was the perfect job for me. It was also where, a year later once I’d been promoted, I met the girl who was to become my first wife and, well, you’ve been reading my poems so you know where it went from there. My seventeenth year was really where I grew up though. I hadn’t realised how insular and parochial my life had been up until then.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-53022284333493242562017-02-12T23:53:55.627+00:002017-02-12T23:53:55.627+00:00The things we don't know about each other! I d...The things we don't know about each other! I didn't know that and I reckon you didn't know this either - I didn't talk about it much. <br /><br />I would never have put myself down as braver than you, nuh-huh. <br /><br />Seventeen and a week. I get that. :)Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-1000480122298345972017-02-12T15:49:18.932+00:002017-02-12T15:49:18.932+00:00Amazing - what a year. You were braver then I was ...Amazing - what a year. You were braver then I was - I went to Rathmines School of Journalism & sat outside rather then go in to the interview.......and so stayed at hime for 3 more years. I was also about 17 and a week old, like you. MC Somershttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14328783977908053326noreply@blogger.com