It's a Walkman, Sonny

It was a nice, clear night sky and the stars sparkled and twinkled above the city.

I had spent a couple of hours braising about half a pound of Ox Liver with onions and served it up in a thick tomato sauce for my evening meal. It was filling but not really much else. There is definitely a tipping point when cooking offal, perhaps a matter of a few minutes only, which dictates if it will be a nice, tasty and succulent treat or just a dry, roof of the mouth clogging disappointment. On this particular day it was marginally within the acceptable category. I was always prepared for a failure with this self-devised menu and kept a couple of slices of bread and a bag of fragmented crisps close to hand as emergency sustenance.

I was in a strange city , sharing a house with strangers.

It was my work experience year, the third out of four years of an academic course, and I had ended up in Lincoln. It was not a bad choice for my 12 month placement. I was about 50 miles from home and just a little bit less in distance from Nottingham where most of my friends were still based.

It was 1983.

My first accommodation in Lincoln had been downright disgusting. I cannot remember now how I had found it but it took about two hours to relocate elsewhere after seeing that the communal bathroom did not have a door and my immediate neighbour resembled a Wolf-Man. I just collected up all my worldly belongings in my continental quilt and set off to the nearest Letting Agent. I did not even get that far as in passing an antique shop on the way into town I saw a printed notice advertising a room for rent in a house down near the racecourse. The weekly rate was, at £33, a bit over my actual budget but with the realisation that my personal circumstances of student, work experience and low pay actually qualified me for a rent rebate from the Council it would be manageable.

At least with this subsidy I could splash out on as much Ox Liver as I could stomach. I said that I was sharing with strangers. That was partly true. I did meet the other residents on a sporadic basis as they were, like myself, working but on shift patterns that meant they were either absent for long periods or in their beds for the remainder.

The house was old, terraced and damp. It was accepted that the first person down to cook their breakfast in the cramped, badly equipped kitchen would have responsibility for following the shiny, glossy slug trails to ensure that their makers had exited to the garden or into the sub floor space. This would be followed by the slow moving slug shuffle. I found that plimsolls were very effective as a large eraser in this respect.

I feel desperately sorry for the current generation who have been spared having to lodge or even live in old houses and know nothing of the nocturnal habits of the common slug.

My room, out of working hours, represented the extent of my new world. It was at the back of the house so it was quiet, away from the busy approach road to the city centre. The trade off, however was that it faced north and was either perishingly cold in winter or chillingly cold in the warmer months of the year. In fact, I seem to remember that it was pretty constant in being cold all of the time.

Cooking tea took up a portion of the evening. I had no access to a TV and so took to listening to the radio or using up my entitlement to multiple books from the Municipal Library. I was often asleep, fully clothed, on top of the quilt by 9pm. It was sad.

In the better weather I brought my bike from home and would go out for a long training ride until dusk. I soon got fit and with that came an unjustified ambition on distances. A few times, with the evening sky darkening I found that I was 20 miles away from Lincoln and it took a mad dash to get back before it got really dark and hazardous.

My budget diet of Liver, milk poached sausages, baked potatoes, cornflakes and pasta or rice was conducive to my sporting activities but I thought that I would join a Gym to make up for times when it was not possible to get out on two wheels. That was a mistake. The only gym that I could find was dedicated to amateur body builders who spent all of their time grimacing and squinting at themselves in the wall to wall mirrors or with faces buried in large tubs of whey protein supplement. To cap it all, that was just the women members.

After a few months of this form of existence, don't get me wrong I enjoyed the work placement and the staff were nice to me, I was certainly in a bit of a rut.

A simple gift gave me a new outlook and perception of my life.

I was given a Sony Cassette Walkman for my birthday and plugged in to headphones I would set out walking in the evenings. The model was new for 1983. A bulky rectangle of metallic steel with a hinged opening in which to insert the tape, operated by clunky buttons and switches and worn with a shoulder strap like an effeminate handbag.

That model marked the pinnacle of personal entertainment and was streets ahead of the initial versions which had come to the market in 1979.

The headphones were bulky ear muffs, both effective in stereo and nicely warming to ears. Any music had a distinctive hissing as background even with the Dolby noise reduction option activated.

The Uphill area of Lincoln is dominated by the Gothic Cathedral, The Castle and narrow, cobbled lanes. A soundtrack of classical music brought this environment to life even after the pubs, shops and restaurants had closed and all was deserted. It was as though I was being followed around by my own personal orchestra. At other times I would listen to rock music which could be equally mood creating and sympathetic to the surroundings.

Although technically advanced for its time the Cassette Walkman was soon to become redundant. I often see current generations with trailing cables leading from gossamer light earphones to some credit card sized piece of playing equipment of infinite storage capacity and giving off a distinctive bass thump or treble wail.. They walk easily, light on their feet, almost spring lamb like in frolicking action.

They have it easy. I recall that with the combined weight of a Walkman, headphones, carrying strap and even the self restriction to a small stock of cassette tapes any walkabout resembled an expedition. With this full stock of equipment developed a distinctive stooping and premature curvature of the spine that is a recognisable affliction of those approaching their, now, fiftieth year.