tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6208567103363064580.post7923997124690485568..comments2011-06-09T03:59:11.822-07:00Comments on Manchester's artistic son: Who remembers tarmac bubbles, bloody knees and dirty fingernails?Chewyteethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00980796266350344973noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6208567103363064580.post-40374239399670386222011-06-09T03:59:11.822-07:002011-06-09T03:59:11.822-07:00I loved this post Dave! I love the imagery you'...I loved this post Dave! I love the imagery you've used and the fact that it's made me realise I'm not the only person who intimately remembers a tiny area symbolic of my childhood. <br /><br />This reminded me of a patch at the end of my driveway where I used to sit either playing on my own or with my friends. I remember the tarmac and the knobbly familiar road. The borders of the next door neighbours garden and the little rocks I used to lift to look disgustedly but with fascination at the woodlice. And I remember stained fingers from picking petals to make perfume.<br /><br />Thanks for the post which brought long forgotten memories rushing back.Louisehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01287297455216770414noreply@blogger.com