THERE’S nothing like revisiting an old friend. So much forgotten pleasure to be derived from taking giant steps back to the very early years. In so doing we revive  experiences that only now are revealed and recognised for their formative effect on so much that followed. As a youth, I voraciously and randomly devoured almost any reading matter that came my way. There was no distracting television and the radio offered little beyond the news, the daily brief excitement of Paul Temple‘s nail biting adventures and late night horror tales spun by the sonorous voice of Valentine Dyall (aka The Man… Continue reading