She had chosen a curious moment to draw the line.“Uncle… Uncle… This is-- Hm! I’ll introduce you to my bo-- Ah!” she moaned with one particu...arly deep kiss to her neck.With that, he stopped, just seconds shy of getting caught by the pair of black haired, females coming back to our place in the stand.When he stepped back, I saw her neck again.It was gleaming.------------------At some point in their act, I had begun to feel something. It was growing—unbeknownst to me—beyond control and invariably. Perhaps that made Harry the Artful Dodger, and Grandpa Fagin? Or was I Dodger and Harry Oliver? I don’t know.The rest of 1967 ticked along nicely, punctuated by a visit to Sheffield at October half-term, and Christmas gathered at home in Wimbledon. It felt nice to be normal for a while.In January 1968 there was an interesting development in my personal life. It was my friend Peter’s thirteenth birthday party, which he was having at a bowling alley. Ours was an all boys school, but Peter being. More

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