In particular was the business of getting out of afternoons officially earmarked for cricket. With a schoolmate, we'd discreetly cycle off in another direction when most of the others were on their way to the playing field about half a mile away up the road, and within half an hour find ourselves at Streatham Common, South London, and a second hand bookshop which sold back copies of Mad magazine - mainly the paperback versions.
With a couple of issues each we'd then find a suitable tree on the green on the other side of the road and get lost in the wonderful world of Alfred E. Neuman.
My favourite artist was, I think, called Mort Drucker, who drew characters with a slick style - he gave everyone very long feet bent over at the front as if the toes within were gripping the ground.
Sadly the school mate who was my accomplice of those frequent games double period disappearing acts, and thereafter proved to be a friend for life, died in 2010 from a massive brain haemorrhage.
I hope that one day, when we are both up there, we shall again be slipping away from the mind numbing strumming of harp practice and find another heavenly bookshop, and a sunny cloud to settle on for an afternoon or two of those glorious 'what, me worry?' memories.
Pete
