I didn’t have room. Not with my sandwiches, fruit gums, bag of Salt ‘N' Shake and bottle of orange squash.
The new jersey was all thick and scratchy, knitted with sickly green Arran wool. Night after night Mam’s needles kept clicking. Every now and then, she would measure it against my back. She sewed it up, the chunky needle flying back and forth, back and forth as she watched Coronation Street.
Sunbeams were bouncing off the pavements. It would weigh me down.
But nobody argued with Mam.
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