So summer is here in the UK. Or Spring. Or that weird spring-summer thing we have every year in May after the snow and before the rain – and the cloudy school holidays.
It makes me feel nostalgic. I smell coconut suncream and meaty barbeque smoke and I’m transported. I’m a boy cycling up and down the street in front of our old house in Daisy Hill. Those long summer Sunday nights before school, and the long weeks once school had broken up. Or I’m a teenager in an un-tucked school shirt kicking a football around. Or chatting up the girls and swigging beers at messy house-parties trying to look cool.
Manchester's Artistic Son 