When I was about 12 years old I was an incredibly long and thin child.
It was decided that I should play the double bass in the school orchestra as I was the only person in the junior school who could reach the top of the instrument to stop the strings.
As if that wasn’t enough I had decided that I was a cut above the average child of that age and so eschewed all interest in pop music but fostered a passion for classical music, particularly the ballet music of Tchaikovsky.
It was as if I had decided my bizarre appearance (the words long, string and misery could be appropriate here) was not sufficient to mark me out from the crowd.
I had been saving hard after my birthday and had finally got together the money to buy Le Lac des Cygnes by my composer of choice in Corks best record shop, Piggott’s in Patrick Street.
So, money firmly in pocket (I’m fairly sure it was a pound and some pence)and encumbered by a vast school bag which weighed in at least 20 lbs,I headed in to make my purchase.
I had at this time developed a strategy for dealing with the appalling embarrassment which was part of making any purchase (particularly when it involved a pre adolescent boy buying ballet music.)
This strategy was to imagine the proceedings before purchase, this made me flush scarlet all the way to my toes, this way I had a notion that they –the terrifying people behind the counters, might imagine that I just had a florid complexion and was not being horrendously embarrassed by my temerity.
So armed with the money and the school bag and the head of a tomato I made my way up to the counter and asked for the record.
Looking slightly shocked the assistant got it for me.
I then discovered that to get the money out of my pocket and accept the record I would have to put my school bag on the counter, which I did.
Then I made my mistake, and dropped some of the hot and sweaty money on the ground.
As I bent over to retrieve it I nudged the schoolbag which promptly overbalanced and landed firmly but delicately balanced on my back.
I thus had put myself in a position of some difficulty.
Imagine please a skinny, long, short panted , geeky boy bent double next to a counter in a shop with a heavy bag balanced precariously on his back.
(The complexion had now moved from red to a startling purple)
A crowd began to gather and I froze in this position for what seemed like several minutes.
I eventually made a decision that if I could do a sort of rising shimmy I could persuade the bag to fall sufficiently slowly so I could swing about and catch it before it hit the ground.
Gathering all my strength I did just that and caught the bag just before it hit the floor.

I think I heard a faint smattering of applause from the crowd at that moment.

That was it really, someone handed me the coins that I had dropped so I handed it to the assistant and holding my head as high as I could I left the store. I distinctly remember my audience making a path for me.
It was at least three years before I had the courage to re-enter Piggott’s.
I think that was also the moment when I decided to develop and interest in pop music.