Sean Gabb at Sixty: A Balanced Appreciation
Mario Huet
I’ve read the various appreciations written to commemorate Sean Gabb’s sixtieth birthday. These are all good and true. I don’t claim to be much of a political analyst. What I can offer is that I’ve known Sean for half a century, which is somewhat longer than anyone else here can claim. Because I usually helped put them there, I know where all the bodies are buried. Over the years, he’s returned the favour. I think this qualifies me to add to the growing heap of praise.
I met Sean on Tuesday the 7th September 1971. It was our first day at a crap comprehensive school in South-East London. He was a short, fat boy, with NHS glasses and a mass of brown curls. He had a flat voice and a permanent look of boredom. He despised most of the teachers, and responded to their usually incompetent lessons by reading in class or falling asleep. The other boys responded to him with ruthless bullying. His response to that was truancy. If I ever wanted to find him after school, the surest place was Lewisham Library, which in those days was a treasure house of books on every subject. Continue reading
