Chapter 3

The drinking age in the UK is 18. It might be different now but certainly at end of the 1970s and start of the 80s, it wasn’t difficult in a small rural town like mine to find pubs who would serve 14 year olds like me. As long as you were sensible, didn’t draw attention to yourself and knew when to make oneself scarce if the local Constabulary made an unexpected entrance, you were generally OK. Beer, mind, Cider too, but never spirits.

Anyway it was Boxing Day. My girlfriend’s Dad had gone to his favourite local for drinks and he told Jayne to bring me along when I arrived. By the time we walked into the pub, he’d been drinking for 4 or 5 hours. He was merry, loud and cheerful, but not causing any trouble, much like most of the regulars in the pub that day.

One of his mates had to go back home, and he received some good natured ribbing about being under his ‘wife’s thumb!’. The Dad started talking to us two then. He explained that he’d never get called home by his wife,, Jayne’s Mum, because he knew how to keep her happy and satisfied. I remember grinning as Jayne just said ‘Dad!’. He then started asking us questions.