My earliest memories were between the age of 2 and 4, when we lived on a housing estate in Glenrothes in Fife. Getting red busses into the big city (Kirkaldy) was a major treat. And the vans that came around the estate selling everything you could possibly need, long before supermarkets were ever thought of. Of course, to a 2-4 year-old, the Mr Whippy vans were the best. To this very day, I still associate the smell of diesel fumes with a 99 cone, and salivate uncontrollably.
I also had a torch in the shape of a gun activated by the trigger, which was the most precious thing on Earth at the time, and a technological marvel.
But it's the songs that fascinate me most. Listening to chart-toppers on the radio I might not have heard for half a century, and singing along to every word, practically faultlessy... as I stand in front of the open fridge door, trying to remember what I was looking for.
...the good living room...
There's posh! What went on in the bad living room?
This post made me look up if the Trumpton firemen roll-call started Hugh, Hugh Barney McGrew or Pugh, Pugh Barney McGrew
I loved that bit when I was three
Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb. Classic line-up, only surpassed by Aird, Hall, Connolly, Pearson and Aitken (obscure reference that probably only Roger will understand).
