When I was a small boy I used to go out the door, out into the close, down the stairs, then out the front door and run across the road and sneak into our next door neighbour, Mick Forgrieve’s, van.
Sometimes I went into the front passenger seat or the driver’s seat or the back where the joiners’ tools were. I really liked that van and it drew me to it.
When I got into the van my mother would catch me, give me a thrashing and take me back up the stairs. But every time she turned her back, I went and did it again! She was either busy doing the washing or the ironing when I did it because I could sneak away without her noticing.
She was angry because she was worried I would be run over by a car or if when I sneaked into the back of the van, there might be some sharp tools that I would touch and I would cut myself, and that wouldn’t do.
Then Mick would be in trouble for not shutting and locking the door, or even my mother for not looking after me as I could have got run over when crossing the road. You don’t want that to happen because I would have ended up in plasters or bandages.
Aye, we were all rebels when we were young.