![]() ![]() In a newsagent shop in Douglas, the Isle of Man capital, was a book stand filled with cheap paperback novels, among them My Bones and My Flute by Edgar Mittelholzer. There is something else I remember about that holiday. Ultimately my hat failed me, and I suffered a red nose for two weeks. We looked daft but at 16 that’s often the point. This was the summer of 1976, the second hottest summer on British record, and we wore matching floppy denim hats to combat the likelihood of sunburn. Free of the confines of school there didn’t seem much point anymore and I sensed we had a lot less in common without it. ![]() We couldn’t know at the time, but it would also be a sort of farewell salute to childhood and our friendship. It was our first holiday without adult supervision, and I remember it as a long list of daft antics and adventure from one end of the small island to the other. The Isle of Man was a celebration of the fact that school was now over. We had met years ago in the Infants he called me Dave, I called him Potty and that was all it took to cement a friendship. At age 16 I took the ferry with my schoolfriend Paul to the Isle of Man for a holiday. ![]()
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