I remember the early morning fishing trips to Denver sluice gates, mum shouting at you for filling the bath at home with the days catch of eels to be sold at the Rutland Arms opposite the police station, and coming back one day with a chicken and dead deer we picked up on route. I remember that chicken we called Julie, and we both married a Julie. Go figure. Wish we had made the effort to repeat these trips in later years. I could write so many stories here but some are probably best left till we meet again, wherever that may be.