Chapter 1

I recently had to attend a business meeting in Cardiff, a city that I hadn't been back to since I finished University there, very nearly forty years ago.

Because of the distance from home, I drove down the night before and stayed over. It was a lovely evening, so after a shower and a quick meal, I left my hotel and went for a long walk around the city I used to know so well.

It has changed almost beyond recognition; there are new buildings all over the place, especially around the old docks area in Bute, where the modern architecture of the Welsh Assembly dominates its surroundings.

Away from the areas of urban renewal - and some much loved watering holes and cheap eating places from my student days have been swept away - the Victorian residential streets of the Welsh capital city were still pretty much as I remembered them. They had been tarted up quite a bit, there were far more parked cars than there had been, but many places were instantly recognisable.

One of them was the house where the events I'm about to recount happened. My feet took me down that road out of curiosity, and I was vividly reminded of those times. On the long drive home the next morning, I remembered those days and decided to try to write an account of them, to treasure in my old age. There are certainly no regrets, just some very fond memories, which I'd now like to share.

It's been great reliving it to tell you the story. I might even tell you more, some other time.

It all started off fairly slowly. I was at college in Cardiff, my first time living away from home, and life was very good.

This was back in the early 1970's, when all students received a local authority grant that they could actually live on; and for most of us, a part-time job for a few hours a week paid for beer, fish and chips, kebabs, concert tickets and the other vital necessities of student living.

Most of us were the first people in our families ever to go to University, and it was all a great adventure. I didn't come from Wales myself, but Cardiff had a good reputation for my subject, and I was pleased with my choice of University, and I was enjoying my studies.

The cost of living was also a lot less than at some of the other universities I had considered, and I was delighted not to have to live in a Hall of Residence, which meant paying for meals up front, whether or not you had them.

I had found a reasonable bunch of lads to share a house with; we all mucked in with the chores and muddled along nicely. None of us had lived away from home before; for some it was a steeper learning curve than others.

Muddled is probably an appropriate word.

Our mothers would have been horrified at the clutter we lived in, our fathers would have muttered something about bringing back National Service, the mandatory military service that had made them unnaturally tidy about the house.

My mum had given me compulsory lessons in cooking, washing, ironing and using a public call box to phone home.

Dad had merely advised me to beware of fast cars, fast women and slow racehorses, ending with "If you can't be good, be careful!" and slipping me a fiver. That was a lot of pocket money in those days!

It was now mid-February.

The postman had not been troubled with a single Valentines Day Card for our house, neither had we sent any.

Spring was in the air, although some days there wasn't a lot of difference between the autumn drizzle, the winter rain and the sweet spring showers. It rains quite often in Cardiff.

The daffodils were well and truly out in the parks along the River Taff, but the leaves weren't yet showing on the trees.

I had signed up to be a blood donor at the stand at the Fresher's Fair, had attended my first session in mid-October, and had just received my little blue book with my letter calling me in for my second donation.

With hindsight, I think they must have rigged the dates, so they could squeeze three donations a year out of us students!

I went in to give blood just before lunchtime.

I took one of my organic chemistry textbooks with me, in order to make good use of the time available, and parked myself at the end of the short queue of people sitting on orange plastic chairs along the back wall of the Great Hall of the Student's Union.

After a couple of minutes, a dark haired girl of about my height plonked herself down on the seat next to me and asked me "Are you the end of the queue?"

I was just about to say that I was, when everybody stood up, shifted one seat to their right, and sat down again.

"I needn't have asked!"

Scarcely had she said that, than everybody stood up, shifted one seat to their right, and sat down again.

"I hate this bit; but I suppose it's the only way to ensure it's first come first served."

"They could issue us with tickets, I suppose, but then half the people wouldn't hear when their number was called. I wonder if it's deliberate, to give the donors plenty of exercise, and get the blood flowing faster in their veins?"

She giggled. It was a nice giggle.

Everybody stood up, shifted one seat to their right, and sat down again.

"I don't bother to try reading my book on this bit, you have to get up and down too often, and I keep losing my place."

"Me neither! Oh well, at least it's moving quite quickly."

Everybody stood up, shifted TWO seats to their right, and sat down again.

"It's a lot better than last time, that took a long while, and I was nervous because I hadn't given blood before."

"That may have been part of the reason; I hadn't donated either, and there are apparently many more questions the first time. My dad says that once you are on their list, it's quite straightforward."

Everybody stood up, shifted one seat to their right, and sat down again. I was now third from the end.

"I timed it just right last time; I got to the tea table as they were refilling the biscuit bowl."