I wasn't allowed to have a bike when I was a child, as it was considered too dangerous where we lived then on Stanhill Lane. I manged to find a bike substitute on the tip, which was a wheel chair, and used to get my friend Shirley to push me up and down the lane, only after doing a Rindy make over and painting it beige with black spots.
My much loved form of transport was cruelly taken from me though, in the power cuts of the early seventies. My Dad took the wheels off, and along with a church pew, and some lengths of drainpipe, boilt a windmill on top of the garage.
It measured over twenty feet tall and Mum, and some of our neighbours were mortified. Traffic used to stop, and people used to stand across from the house to gawp.
It didn't generate enough energy to power the television, but we were the only house in Ossy with lights on downstairs.
