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It was my bro Mike who first got me keen on pop music. He used to buy his singles on a saturday morning and I'd wait for him to come home to play them on our tiny suitcase record player. I'll always remember his smart words when i told him I assumed Steve Harley was rubbish as he couldn't sing. He told me 'nothing is rubbish if somebody likes it'. From then on I listened to music in a complete different way. mates came and went, Steve Fordham was my right hand man in several of our escapades some of which I can not talk about until the statute of limitations runs out. We would fish down Tottenham Locks and go adventuring together though I do not understand why we probably did get on as he used to enjoy me being in pain especially the time when we were given caught scrumping in somebody's garden and a dog was put on us. Steve flew over the wall but i struggled being a tiny bit smaller. I was there, attempting to pull myself up over the wall with a dog hanging on my trouser leg. I suspect Steve could have been close to wetting himself that day. We had joy we had fun we had seasons in the sunshine although it was a doleful day when he moved up to Burnley and my pa wouldn't even let me have a sleepover for his yesterday evening. Life was good for many years till my pa met someone and got remarried. With her came three more boys. Can you imagine it ? 6 boys in one house. So goodbye Leyton, hi Stratford. The worse thing about this move was that I had to share a room with her youngest and he was a smattering with an especially quick fiery temper. I can remember coming home and finding all my stuff thrown out the window and laying in the back garden with my treasured cuddly bear impaled on the garden fence. These were difficult times for me and my bros as she dominated the roost and the stereotypical step-mother held court. Things weren't all bad though. We generally got on with the bros Steve, Graham and Colin, the youngest, but the bonus was the comradeship of Gary the kid from next door. Out of all of the years living there the best year needs to be 1976. It was the year when the sun did not stop shining all summer and the holiday we had down in Looe, Cornwall was the best vacation i'd ever had. Cornish Pasties were the food of the god's and sweetest love blossomed. Everything was just going great. Gary and me spent all summer catching the 69 bus to Beckton lido with our crew playing about in the pool, and to cap it all I'd eventually managed to get back in communication with my old friend Steve and organized a trip up to Burnley for Yuletide. It got so new and exciting traveling up there on the national coach as I had never been away from home on my own before. When I arrived Steve was there waiting for me and the welcome I got from his mummy and family almost made me cry. We partied all over the place and it was like being a star. The girls would steadily ask me to claim different words in my cockney accent,. You did not hear me griping. I can remember one party in particular because they stopped it to watch Starsky and Hutch! The Xmas week culminated at the Cat's hairs for New Years Eve and we danced all night to the likes of Rose Royce, Leo Sayer and Candi Staton finishing the evening off with John Christie's Here's to love. It was a great end to potentially the best year of my life.
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