In a house where the only books available were a medical dictionary and The Encyclopaedia of Dogs, it's no surprise that I didn't develop a reading habit. I could read of course and the local library was available, but I was more interested in picking up the chalk left by the bookmakers at the greyhound track, squirreling it away under the bed and taking it out to draw caricatures of the neighbours on the pavements of the cul-de-sac where I lived.
Increasingly, having no confidence in the way I spoke, drained my of personal confidence. Playing with other kids in the street wasn't a problem. We spoke the same language, but secondary school brought together children from different walks of life and, you might say, a different talking life too. My parents were the same when they had to meet a teacher or headmaster: completely tongue-tied and unnecessarily and embarrassingly deferential. But the fun was still to come. University.
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