An autobiographical account of Christmas Eve in 1953, when I was four years old and waiting for Father Christmas to arrive. But, WHAT is hiding behind the alcove curtain?

A true-life story of my first public drumming "gig" in front of my classmates at school, and the abject fear, nervousness and personal success that accompanied it.

Throughout the ordeal of life in the 50’s, as a pupil at Barton Road School, there was one exciting moment each week that helped, in some small way, to make the whole experience tolerable. And although this precious interlude lasted a mere thirty minutes, I regarded it in much the same way that a tired and thirsty man would view an oasis in the desert.

The first time I received payment for playing in public as a 15-year-old fledgling drummer was not, as may be expected, in coins of the realm. It was not even with an offer of a return booking to show off my talent. No! My rhythmic efforts were rewarded with a humble hot meat pie.

Winters in our little prefab were cold. With the lack of any heating other than the coal fire in the living-room, coupled with the bitter winds that whipped inland from the English Channel during those long, dark months, going to bed as a small boy in the 1950’s was without doubt an uncomfortable experience.