Some dates get imprinted on our memory.
I’d driven up, at dawn, from Wiltshire to Lincolnshire the day before (Sep 1st) with my two young sons and two cats. Dee Dee was in a basket in the passenger seat footwell and every time I changed gear she’d reach out and scratch me.
We were moving away from the army and into our first ever home. But the Removal Van never arrived. So the boys and I ended up sleeping on the living room floor with curtains as blankets that night.
New day. New Dawn. The van arrived with our belongings and it was a bloody hot day. All windows open.
My new next door neighbour had his stereo on max vol all day and this album was playing. He came around to ask if the music was too loud and I said NO. We have this LP in one of these boxes. Carry on, mate.
Years later I learned that this neighbour was the brother of one of my childhood friends. She and I had gone to school together when I was 10 years old and growing up in the town.
I’ve got previous convictions for confessing to a teenage pash for David Essex and I’ve never not loved Richard Burton’s voice.