“Went up Toms. Didn’t go to party. Borrowed records”
Tom was my Dad’s best friend with whom he used to work and go fishing with on a regular basis. He was a really nice guy, but his wife was something of a pompous flashy cow who my Mum didn’t really care for.
Tom and Margaret (for that was her name) lived in a ‘swanky’ corner of Chandlers Ford and, unlike my own parents, had quite the record collection, somewhat eclectic too (helped by teenage offspring of their own), which they played on a marvellous-sounding Bang & Olufsen record unit in a walnut cabinet. One of those huge bits of furniture that existed in the seventies.
(Is there something wrong with me when I can’t remember visiting Gilkicker Fort – which I must have done – but I can remember that my Dad’s best friend’s record player was made by the always-classy Bang & Olufsen?)
I suspect that what happened here was Dad went up to Tom’s to maybe apologise for not coming to their party – possibly because Mum refused to spend any time with Margaret? – and that during the tea (or beer) they shared I perused their record collection and asked to borrow a few of their albums.
