It kept me out of mischief and gave me something to do. Around the same time, Dad had decided to build a model railway layout in the loft. It became a big project, and filled the entire space up there, with a small area around the loft hatch to sit and control the trains. Dad did a
ll of the wiring for the points and lighting, and I made papier mache mountains and painted the landscape, houses, and little people to populate our 'town'. The excuse for building it was that it was for Paul's benefit, but I think Dad and I did it more for ourselves than anything. Indeed, once it was all finished, Dad and I happily passed control over to Paul and went to leave the loft. He followed us down. Dad asked him, "Do you not want to stay and play then?", but Paul said, "No - I'm not staying up there on my own!". It did still get used from time to time though; we would add bits and pieces and Dad would buy new rolling stock. In May of 76, I went on a week's holiday on the Norfolk Broads with a pal from work, Paul Willows. Paul was a great laugh, but he did have a kind of hangdog expression about his face. It was this which made Dave Bell decide to give him the nickname Henry, which stuck. 
At the time, there was a series of adverts on the television for dogfood starring Clement Freud and his bloodhound, Henry. It was a bit unfair, but Paul didn't seem to mind, so Henry he became. I'm not sure how it came about that Henry and I went on holiday together, but it happened anyway. We had a fun week, but the memorable parts were all the mini-disasters that took place. 
On one occasion as we were travelling along, I was cooking dinner for us both, and called up to Henry to look for somewhere to moor up. Him being inexperienced, he spotted a clearing in some overhanging trees and decided to 'park' between them, not realising that the tide was quite strong. There was an almighty crash from above as he managed to smash through the cockpit windows with the tree branches, throwing saucepans of hot food across the cabin in the process. By the time I'd gone up to see what was happening, Henry had switched off the engine, leapt off the boat and was holding the stern rope in his hand, desperately trying to pull the boat in to shore. The tide was too strong and the boat was being taken with it. I frantically started the engine again, but by this time, Henry had released the rope, which promptly decided to wrap itself around the propellor. We somehow managed to get moored up amidst Henry falling about helpless with laughter. We had dinner, then took it in turns to stand in the river, uncoiling the rope from the prop. On another day, I had been sunbathing on the roof of the boat using the seat cushions from inside the boat. I got up to get a drink just as a gust of wind whipped the seat cushions into the river. We managed to get them back on board with the boat hook, but the foam cushions were filled with river water. We were in hysterics as we were cruising across Oulton Broad, steering the boat and simultaneously pogo-ing up and down on the cushions in unison, in an effort to squeeze the water out. It wasn't very successful, so we decided to leave the seatpads across the table, then turned on the heating and went to the pub. About three hours later, the boat smelled like some kind of fishy sauna! Yuk!
At the time, there was a series of adverts on the television for dogfood starring Clement Freud and his bloodhound, Henry. It was a bit unfair, but Paul didn't seem to mind, so Henry he became. I'm not sure how it came about that Henry and I went on holiday together, but it happened anyway. We had a fun week, but the memorable parts were all the mini-disasters that took place. On one occasion as we were travelling along, I was cooking dinner for us both, and called up to Henry to look for somewhere to moor up. Him being inexperienced, he spotted a clearing in some overhanging trees and decided to 'park' between them, not realising that the tide was quite strong. There was an almighty crash from above as he managed to smash through the cockpit windows with the tree branches, throwing saucepans of hot food across the cabin in the process. By the time I'd gone up to see what was happening, Henry had switched off the engine, leapt off the boat and was holding the stern rope in his hand, desperately trying to pull the boat in to shore. The tide was too strong and the boat was being taken with it. I frantically started the engine again, but by this time, Henry had released the rope, which promptly decided to wrap itself around the propellor. We somehow managed to get moored up amidst Henry falling about helpless with laughter. We had dinner, then took it in turns to stand in the river, uncoiling the rope from the prop. On another day, I had been sunbathing on the roof of the boat using the seat cushions from inside the boat. I got up to get a drink just as a gust of wind whipped the seat cushions into the river. We managed to get them back on board with the boat hook, but the foam cushions were filled with river water. We were in hysterics as we were cruising across Oulton Broad, steering the boat and simultaneously pogo-ing up and down on the cushions in unison, in an effort to squeeze the water out. It wasn't very successful, so we decided to leave the seatpads across the table, then turned on the heating and went to the pub. About three hours later, the boat smelled like some kind of fishy sauna! Yuk! Other days out I remember from the summertimes in those days include visits to Traction Engine rallies at Revesby near Boston, or at Stamford. My cousin Langley and his wife were treasurers for the society, so we used to go along to help support them. Traction engines are big, noisy steam-driven workhorses from a bygone era, but enthusiasts around the country keep them preserved as if they were new.
Along with the static displays and arena events such as tug-o-war between two engines, there was a funfair, stalls and fair organs. There was always a layed back fun feeling to those highsummer days, when 
the heat would make everything shimmer, and your senses was assaulted by various smells, sights and sounds from new-mown hay in the fields, the slow chuff-chuff of the engines as they built speed, the ear-piercing whistles, the organs, and the smell of fried onions or candy floss from the stalls . One time I went with Dave Rimmer to the Carrington rally, and we took flights in a helicopter around the area, so that was a fun new experience flying around and watching the world skim by under your feet. Good days out.
In September of 1976, I went with family friend Dennis for a week's
holiday in Devon and Cornwall. It was the hottest summer on record at the time and everwhere we went, the grass was straw-brown. The week after we went, they introduced stand-pipes in the street because of the lack of water. We rented a basement flat in Ilfracombe, North Devon for £25 for the week. As well as using 
that as a base to tour Devon, we also took a trip down into Cornwall and stayed in a Bed and Breakfast house at Newquay. We visited lots of places that week, including Clovelly, Croyde, Woolacombe, Lynton and Lynmouth, Mevagissey, Falmouth, Truro, St. Ives, Boscastle, Hartland Point and Lands End. When we got home we realised that we had spent more in petrol than we did in lodgings!
One night, Dennis was almost killed in Ilfracombe when, staggering out of a pub with about 6 pints of 'snake bite' inside him (local cider 
and Guinness mixed), he wandered out into the middle of the road just as a car came careering around the bend. It didn't have a chance to
stop, and I have no idea to this day how it missed him. It was so close that it seemed to drive straight through him. He just laughed, and I had to grab him quickly and try to push him up the hill to our flat where we both threw up and collapsed onto our beds. Cider gives you one hell of a hangover!
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