Long time ago.

I'm not sure why I should remember this now but it is a clear recollection.
In the back entry's of the classic Salford slum I sat transfixed watching a mate's Dad line up match sticks in the dirt between the flags in their back yard.

He then took out his kukri applied a steel or stone to the edge and sliced through the matches.
They didn't collapse, or burn, or fall over. He didn't treat us like admiring idiots, although we were.

He parked his fag in the corner of his mouth and explained how it was his weapon in the last war and he had been shown how to use it by the Gurkhas. It kept him alive and that was important for him and his family!

We carried on with the daily round of football, cricket, school, rounders(included girls) and getting the ball back from the the backyard of Mrs Humphries the eyeball scratcher, shudder!

Life! Ojala!