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Falkirk's Highway to Hell

Bright lights, big city – not words people might not associate with the place, but it was a big deal for my best friend and I to travel into nearby Falkirk. Especially when you’re nine years old and never been on a bus before.

Back in the day, circa 1979. It was a heavy metal quest of gigantic proportions we were destined to take. Yep, my friend and I were head-bangers that required full on metal gear to go with our head-banging antics.

Studded belts, AC/DC patches, Black Sabbath, bleached Cosmic jeans; any piece of kit that turned us into the real deal.

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Full of Beans

“It was me!” I said.

My six cousins gasped as one, my mother blanched and my father glowered. Until then, this first holiday had been an adventure. There was all the excitement and novelty of the sleeper train from Scotland to King’s Cross and a train to Cirencester, to spend a fortnight with my aunt and uncle and their brood. In glorious sunshine, I paddled and guddled in the river, built shelters and careered about on an old bike.

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Keywords: 
childhood, stealing