I was 9 years old in the summer on 1976. We lived at the top of a culdesac, shaped a bit like a capital T. That top op the T become our Wimbledon for the entire fortnight, our British Bulldog and Red Rover games pitch for the rest, and, when we were feeling very adventurous, our open air barbecue as we tried to fry eggs on the pavement.
I really remember the smell of the bitumen, as it melted and stuck to our shoes.
Good Morning Saturday 13th June 2026




