Quite a while ago, when I still lived with my parents, our suburban three-bed semi had a long garden that backed onto another property that was around the corner. There lived a family with two sons, one the age of my younger brother and the other – Nick was his name, was either the same age or a year younger than me. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was mates with Nick in the true buddy sense, more of a nodding to each other in the street acquaintance and the odd sporadic conversation. He was football mad, and I wasn’t.
