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On yet another hot afternoon I find myself sitting on a balcony on the third floor of our three star hotel listening to the gentle hum of traffic, the chatter below from fellow holidaymakers and feeling the refreshing breeze blowing softly and sedately through the leaves of the horse chestnut tree which blocks the view in both directions. Outwardly, I can see the shapes rooftops and inwardly the tree blocking anyone else from seeing my aging hairy legs that are mounted two foot six in the air up against the concrete wall of the balcony.

The thirty-five degree suntrap I was enjoying was such that my arm gleamed in the sunlight, my neck, under my chin is already moist and my tee shirt was doing its best to absorb the unpleasant perspiration. Most afternoons I have been in this position, reading the autobiographies of two people I have admired from the world of entertainment. One, a prolific and much loved writer of comedy and the other, a sadly no longer with us, disc jockey, although I suspect that description would not be his favourite! If I was to say that they both had different life styles and experiences I suspect you may get an unexpected view of each. The first, born about twenty miles from where I live, albeit on the dark side of the Pennines, his mother died in childbirth, he lived his early years without the love and affection we take for granted. Eventually, just as the other author was joining us, he joined the Royal Airforce with dreams of visiting Europe on daily raids, not realising the awfulness of war. His youth removed by misfortune and war, never having his own clothes yet who was to become a legend of the stage and as a writer. The second had a more privileged upbringing, as I have said, he was born a few days before the war, went to private school, endured the joys of an all male boarding school but was raped by one of his fellow scholars. As a musician I have always looked fondly on John Peel, he played the music he believed in, not having to play from the rigid playlists that seem to have preference on our airwaves. I will always remember hearing Xanadu' by Rush and next day running to buy the album Farewell to Kings' from which the track came from. As for Eric Sykes, well after enjoying his work over many years one can only wonder what he might have achieved had he had the encouragement in his youth.
The heat now is getting unbearable, my straw hat covering a sweat-covered forehead that once had hair. I am here with my wife who is currently

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