The title of the second book in the Runner series will be Younger Runner. The next rung up the gang structure. The book is in its early stages yet. I have also decided to provide a full character bio in this book as it would be difficult to read one book without the other if this wasn't provided. Many characters were introduced in Tiny Runner, and some of these had real+street+informant names. Not intended to be too complicated, but hopefully the character bio will help.
I am also working hard on another idea which is different, although potentially linked to the Runner series. Early stages but I am excited about this one. More to follow.
Liverpool are about to embark on a couple of matches in Asia, against a couple of Premiership rivals, first up on Wednesday is Crystal Palace! Oh dear an early conflict of interest! (My wife is a season ticket holder at Palace)
Losing Mum and Dad Part 3
1963/64 (or thereabouts)
I was six or seven at this point. Perhaps the first real thing I can remember about my Mum that stayed with me. I went to primary school in a town called Launceston, known as Lanson or similar. My first teacher was called Miss Stanbury who I believe was a lovely lady. Her classroom was in the bowels of the school, known as National. It sat in the shadows of the historic place of interest in Lanson. That being the medieval castle, which sits on the top of the hill. The old A30 used to pass through the town back in those days, and so more people visited. Now, the A30 is a dual carriageway carrying cars past Lanson and on towards Bodmin, deeper into Cornwall. Anyway, the point is, that having moved up from Miss Stanburys class around the years suggested, I became a pupil of none other than Charles Causley. A renowned poet, and a really nice guy. He is the subject of a plaque in the town, and another at the old church by the River Kensey, St Thomas's, again dating back many hundreds of years. Mr Causley had a class on the ground floor, separated by a movable divider from the only other class in the school, which was for the older pupils, and taught by Mr Kinsman, also the headmaster. For some reason, aged six or seven, I began to wet the bed. This caused my Mum, in typical fashion to attend the school and find out what on earth was going on which was causing her son to be wetting the bed. A speedy (as I recall) investigation unearthed the fact that I was frightened to ask to be excused from Mr Causleys class to use the bathroom facilities, because it would mean interrupting Mr Kinsmans class, and thereby doing a walk of shame. Apparently he positively forbade anyone from attending the toilet during class time. I have other bad memories of Mr Kinsman, which wont be shared, but the best way to describe him was a strict disciplinarian. (polite). In any event, Mum had got to the bottom of it, and with Mr Causley's help, solved my issue. Happy days. Good old Mum.
Photo of Kiki the van used in New Zealand