Bob Lewington here again.
When I’m on the pot, I like to read a lot. It’s a man thing!
I popped round to my mum’s this morning to put some new shelves up for her. I’ve got a drill. Don’t use a spirit level though. Don’t trust bubbles. Sinister things
Sunday’s cabbage worked its magic and I needed the facilities. I read about Neil Armstrong in The Sun.
I remember that July day in ’69. Dad had got me up at 4 in the morning to watch him walk on the moon. Armstrong that is. Not Dad. He was in his pants and vest on the settee next to me watching the telly.
Dead impressed I was. I stuck the goldfish bowl over me head pretending to be Armstrong. There were half a dozen lads in Gravesend A and E all wearing goldfish bowls. A lot of goldfish must have come to a sticky end that day.
When the bowl was off, I got a slap round the head from the Nurses, Doctors and Dad. And a passing Policeman for good measure. Kids have it easy these days. A good beating did me the world of good.
Here’s to Neil Armstrong I thought as I reached for the toilet roll. He had reached for the Stars.
C’est la vie.
All the best,