Well, Come right back I just can't bear it...

When I was about 7, the red sandstone building on the right of this Picture was the Library. Tiled floor, wooden paneling half way up the walls. A smell of old musty books which I loved, and Librarians with glasses on the end of their noses who always said "Sushhhhhhhhh".

You chose your books, and they wrote them on "your card", stamped the inside and allowed you to remove them. I loved going to the library. Dad always took out Sci Fi books, I took anything from the Children's section.

After it was the Library, it was the Job Center, and in 1983, I signed up there after leaving the bank, with "Wham Rap" playing on my stereo.

It's a Dentist now, my dentist, but I've cancelled my last two appointments, cause I'm feart!

When I was 13, my best friend stayed in the white building on the left, upstairs, another window along from those you can see. Our French Teacher stayed in one, and "our friend Norrie", stayed in the flat in the middle. Norrie was 30'ish drove a TR7, and tolerated us bouncing around his flat, laughing at his "man pad", black silk sheets, and all the electronic gadgets of the day. Sometimes he even allowed the two of us to squeeze in the front seat of the TR7 beside him, and drove us around the town, music blaring.

Downstairs, was a furrier. Drapers, which I thought was apt. One day my pal's mum's washing machine flooded, and ruined a whole lot of coats. :-(

Next door to the Furrier was a hairdresser; the actual same hairdresser my mum works for now - but this was his start up. There was him, and his Saturday girl - J. Who was also our friend. He was crazy mad. I think he still is. One day he locked me and my mate in the garden shed, and left us there. For a long time.

In the lane between the two buildings, the wall on the left was covered in Moss, and my friend and I used it as a diary. We marked significant dates, and initials on the wall, drew toilets as death markers for our goldfish (Jerome Duran Jordache was one of them) , with the dates of their deaths on them, names, loves, places.

It was an open lane at that point, with a red phone box sitting on the corner - that was our hang out.

Then one day, her mum, unusually, passed through the lane rather than the closeway, and spotted the words, and drawings and recognised our initials. Came in, screamed at us, told us to get stones, and scrape it all off. But if you look closely, you can still see the outline of one of the toilet pans.