I had done the rounds and the sawdust run on many occasions before, either at weekends or during the school holidays. They were regular events for me, for my older sister, Chris, and for my younger brother, Barry. But this summer was going to be different. This was going to be the summer for which I had waited years. In the past, Chris had slept over at the dairy and spent whole days working with Dad. When I had asked for the same privilege I was told "You're too young; you can when you're older". That became Mum and Dad's stock answer, but I would not let the matter rest. Then, after what must have been two years of moithering, I applied a dose of logic to my argument. I pointed out that it was at the age of eleven that Chris was allowed to stay at the dairy. That was it, I had them - I could not possibly be too young any more.

Even so, it had taken them yonks to come to a decision. I could not understand why Mum and Dad seemed to spend a ridiculous amount of time discussing it and what was more, they would go into the front room to discuss it; we only used the front room at Christmas or when we had guests. If I walked in, the would immediately cease their conversation, so I knew they were talking about it. Why the big debate? This was not exactly a life-changing event and quite frankly I thought it was taking favouritism a bit too far. But finally, my request was acceded to and arrangements were put in place for the coming summer: I would accompany Dad to work whenever I liked (within reason) and in the middle of the holidays I would sleep over at the dairy. This was my first day working at the dairy. One day I would do this for a living, but for now this was one small step in that direction.

Mum went into Banks' to buy some boiled ham. Mr Banks was a grocer but not a greengrocer. For fruit and vegetables we depended on Tommy Stevenson and his mobile shop. He came around once a week and spent the morning parked right outside our house. Mums from all over the block visited his wagon for their weekly greens. They would then stand around on the pavement, gossiping for ages; it was a social occasion. Some mums came by car and would load up their boots with bags of fresh produce. There was one car I looked out for. It always had a load of kids in the back, including a girl who I had seen working in the laundrette. When she saw me, she always smiled. When she smiled at me, something happened and I always smiled back. I had no choice - I couldn't help myself. I never told anyone about the girl in the laundrette.

While Mum was shopping in Banks', I cycled clockwise around the island, like an orbiting spacecraft. Each time I passed the laundrette I slowed down and peered through the big, long windows of what was actually two shops knocked into one. On my third pass I saw her. I watched her over my left shoulder as I passed the windows. She looked up from what she was doing and saw me. She smiled. I smiled back. I held her gaze until I passed beyond the window. There was a tingling on the back of my neck that flowed up behind my ears and reached the top of my head. I enjoyed that feeling. It came with a warm glow.

The year after the dairy closed, we spent a summer vacation in Hebden, searching for our family roots. That, for me, marked the beginning of a life-long love affair with the Yorkshire Dales. Dad worked at Garston Docks until he retired in 1985. Although he enjoyed working as part of the dock community, he was always looking forward to the day when he could return to working with his beloved horses. He had a very busy retirement. As for me, I became the luckiest man on the planet when I married Jean, the girl from launderette. Together we had three wonderful children: two girls and a boy.

    The boy is the middle child.

    His name?

    Anthony - Anthony Joy.

    Is he a farmer or a dairyman?

    No.

    He plays the drums.