Milk was delivered in clinking glass bottles to your door, you went to the ‘outhouse’ to go to the toilet (even in mid-winter), you wandered anywhere with your mates until your tummy told you it was teatime, and the only ‘webs’ were ones on the ceiling your mother took a broom to every Monday.
An Ordinary Boy... mostly. Volume 1 is a light-hearted, yet also honest and revealing, telling of what it was like for one ‘mostly ordinary’ boy growing up in the 1950s and 60s. At the centre of events is the ‘big pink place on the bend’ – the large, three storey house that was concrete edifice, rabbit warren, dance hall, and a good place to bang things with hammers. It was also where tales of jungle drums and cannibals were woven through humid, summer evenings and mighty concrete steps lay in wait for the unwary. But above all, it was home, and one like no other.
At its heart, this is really a timeless story about growing up and learning one of life’s fundamental and hardest lessons: you don’t miss the water until your well runs dry.