I think for us to enjoy and experience the next thirty years of Gregory Paul Spring, we must look back at the last thirty years of Gregory Paul Spring. To truly understand what this man is about. To get into his head, what makes him tic. To have a quick look into the mind of the individual that brought you sayings like chun-a-gred, tweeders, grauwd, HHHooolllaanndd is it and sticking 'ways' at the end of pretty much every word in the English language.
A lot of things happened in August 1980, ABBA were Top of the Pops with ‘The Winner Takes It All’, People in Texas were having a terrible old time with Hurricane Allen, poor auld Mohammad Reza Pahlavi kicked the bucket, promoters in the USSR finally got to bring over a rock band for the first time in there countries history and Nerds were still cuing up in their droves to see Empire Strikes Back but something a little more exciting was happening in a little old suburban town of London, called Surrey. Gregorious Springus was about to enter the world. Born to a very proud Tony and Roz Spring at 3:25 in morning. Weighing in at a healthy 4 pounds, 3 ounces, the nurses knew as she cleaned him off that there was something special about this one. Who in the world could possibly have cuter dimples than this little growd.
Greg eventually grew from a baby into a little boy with the most hilarious haircut in the world, I got onto to Laura, his sister, to scan the photo and send it over to me to put up but sadly she doesn't have a scanner in her gaf.
Even though Greg was a Londoner through and through, he found his love with a football team that he had no association with - Liverpool FC, Tony, who is a die hard Fulham fan, must of been livid. Surrey is also the place where Greg found his love of the English team which many believe he still has to this day. He has recalled many times to me and his mates, his meeting with Matt Le Tissier and with typical cockney cheek, he ran up to Le Tissier and asked
'Mista Le Tissier, Mista Le Tisser, Why won't you ever make the England Team?'
And Matt simply replied
'Coz Bobby Robson thinks I'm too lazy, son.'
In 1991, Greg and his family moved to the mysterious island to the left of England, the homeland of his mother, Roz. He had vague memories of going over to see aunties and uncles but nothing would prepare him for what was about to happen on the mean streets of Rathfarnham in South Dublin.
Within his first week of arriving in Rathfarnham, Greg would make a significant trip to Talking Heads barbers off the Grange Road, this is a significant moment in Greg's life as he would never change this hair style for the rest of his life. It would remain the same for pretty much the next 19 years.
In 1993, Greg entered De Le Salle College in Churchtown to begin his secondary level education, a place where he would encounter some of the teachers that would go on to inspire Greg to this day. Mr. MacSherry, Dave Harding, Mr. Masterson and, of course, the one, the only Chaz.
The Class of 1-3 is where Greg would meet some of the mates he still has to this day - Davey Dwyer, Kieth Downes, Barry Collins, Stuart Doyle and it was through our muturel love of smoking that me and Greg's paths were crossed. Myself, Barry Collins and Davey formed us a band, called JIP. We would be going on about the band and Greg has told me many times that he longed to be a member. ‘He was so jealous of the band.’
Greg's teenage years pretty much consisted of a few things - De La Salle, The Green, Enniskerry, Wesley, . . . . Have I forgetting anything . . . . No, I don't think I have.
The Willbrook Green was the place where we perfected our football skills and I remember distinctly a very heated game of '3 And In' between myself and the Gregmiester, it went on for about a half an hour. I challenged, he excepted, . . . . . . . . He won 3-2. . . . . He such a competitive bastard, ask anyone, beating him at anything feels better than anything else in the world. I will continue to try.
The Green was also a place for hidings and leggin it from hidings for Greg, myself and our chums. We would be enjoying our 15th game of 'Heads N Vollies' of the day and Jamers, Micko and Stobber would pop around for a bit of a chat . . . and a few slaps. Many a time Greg was victim to a fair search, key word here is ‘fair’.
The green eventually was our drinking ground, a place where Greg would prove to be the meanest fucking drunkard the planet has ever seen, a trait that he has some how shaken. In fact I can’t remember the last time I've seen Greg completely bollixed. Ye know, tripping over himself drunk. I have an image of Greg passed out, face down on my oul'pairs living room floor at about 9 o clock at night and my pair were home at about 10. My brother is screaming at me to get this fucking mess out of the gaf. I then remember lugging Greg up to his gaf, me and Franko, leaning him against the door, ringing the bell and legging it. Me and Franko turned around to see Greg's Ma opening the door and Greg falling in after the door. All we could here was - 'Greg, are you alright. Greg'
This behaviour brought us to our next port of call - Wesley. Wesley, probably one of the greatest places. Greg was in Disneyland. I can't really go into any details here but all I can say is TFW. Every Friday we used to gobble our nags on the 48a and in we go with our fake Wesley memberships. Pornography is the only word that can describe what went on in there. It was fuckin savage. After about 2 years, we all evolved to Bectiv where, in terms of the pornography, the bar was raised. Eventually it got a bit scauldy so we began our treks into town.
Out of the blue, one day, I get a call from a bird that I used to know from Wesley, asking if me and the lads wanted to come down to Enniskerry to have a bit of crack, have some cans. 'Fuckin right' I said. I tell Greg and the lads, off to Enniskerry we went willies in hand. It was probably one of the best days of our lives. We went down to be greeted by a massive gang of birds, not a bloke in site. We all got our score on but never had I ever heard of a man getting raped by a bird until that day, and a bald bird at that. Greg was taken advantage of. He was passed out and whilst passed he was accosted sexually. I believe there was a very brief pregnancy scare that soon proved to be false. But it was one of my fondest Greg memories.
A couple of years later when we were about 17, myself and Davey started going out with these girls from Alexander College and a few of these girls mates were very quick to warm to the Springboks, three of them if I'm not mistaken. Over a period of a month, he went out with 3 of them. He was with the first and lost interest pretty quickly, was then going out with her mate the following week and then thought it would be a great idea to not break up with that mate and just start seeing another one at the same time. It was very impressive if you ask me and these birds were hot too. Here was the first sign of the Spring Womanizing Skills kicking into gear. The funny thing was he got away with it. When it all transpired what was going on with these two birds, everyone was cool. They all remain mates to this day including Greg.
Which brings me to another story of Greg getting away with murder. It was warm summer’s night in about July. Greg, myself and the lads were stumbling home from Revels in Rathfarnham Village at about half one. We stroll in through Fonthill which is a short cut home and we discover this JCB, well, it's more like a thing that spreads tarmac. The thing is fuckin huge. There is a dude who is supposed to be watching the fucker who is asleep in a car, he will rue the day he ever fells asleep on the job again. Before you can say, 'way too much to drink', Gal and Greg were in the cockpit of this thing, have started the bad boy up, have lost complete control of the thing and were now beelining for this big fucking gaf. We all stand, holding our breath as we see our 2 mates mill through the front garden wall, into the garden and if it wasn't for the big fucking tree in the front garden, the digger would have been in the suiting room of this house. I have this memory of running up the road beside Greg and the 2 of us are nearly shitting in our kacks with the laughter. The next day we swing by the gaf and there is the owner of the house scratching his head, looking at the digger.
After school, Greg disappeared off to Taunten in Summerset for a couple of years, why? I, still to this day, do not know, neither does he. His oul lad got him this job in his mate’s warehouse. Obviously, Greg felt reminisant of the last story when he was left alone in the warehouse and thought it would be a great idea to jump into a forklift truck that he thought he could drive. Now, to say he lost control of the thing would be an understatement. Not only did he loose control but in doing that he completely wrecked a massive warehouse of stock. There is an image that I will never be able to get rid of as long as I live and it is Greg in this forklift, crying, as it destroying everything in the place.
With his time in England, Greg had 3 memorable relationships - Lisa, Louise and more importantly, Murph. Murphy Spring came along about 9 years ago and as of yet there has never been a bird that even compares to Murph in Greg’s life. Never have I ever seen a man and his cat have an intelligent conversation like Greg and Murph. I've seen them have an argument, like a full blown row.
Eventually, Greg was ready to come home to Ireland and he was bringing Murph with him. I was living in this gaf in Temple Bar, I had just had a whopper session in my place. It was a savage night at Thursday Backlash in Wax. I was only getting started clubbing at this stage, Greg wasn't into it at all. It had been all pubs, the shit clubs and never getting your hole up to that point. I get a phone call -
'Jacko, what's the crack? It's Greg.'
'Fuckin hell, man, what is the story with you?'
'I'm home for good, man. Fancy meeting up.'
'Yeah,'
About 4 hours later, me and Greg are having a coffee in Hag N Daz ice cream parlour in Temple Bar and we discuss what he is thinking of doing?
'I'm thinking of going for this job in Anglo Irish Bank.'
'Sweet, My mate Sean Ryman works there, defo take that, bro. I hear they’re a very reputable bank' !!!!!!!!!
Greg ended up taking the job and from there, pretty much the pair of us have been meeting up every weekend to get sessioned the fuck out of it and it has been the crack. Too many laughs to even comprehend and it continues to this day and tonight should not be any different. I can't wait to celebrate my best mates 30th tonight, it is gonna be fucking savage. Get there you little beauty.
Happy Birthday Greg, see you tonight for an insane amount of crack . . . . . back to yours after, yeah.
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