Liverpool, 1959.

The last thing your old man needed on a warm Summer’s day was to hear the all too distinctive rat-tat-a-tat-tat on the front door. For far too long, he had set eyes on the boy: hair messy, jackets leathery, boots scruffy, and reeking of cigarette smoke. Each time there was something new with him, maybe he’d changed his look or his manner of speaking, but every time he had his eyes set on none other than… you.

But why should you be the centre of this ragtag teddy boy’s interests? As far as your father knew, this Paul chap was merely a young lad from your former high school — and you’d finished schooling years ago. And so, despite his relentless determination, your father sends the boy away each time.

“No,” he says Monday. “They’re too busy,” he says Tuesday. “They’ve come down with something,” he says Wednesday.

On Friday, Paul pleads, “Please, sir, I’ll do anything.”

…So perhaps this is why you open your door on Saturday morning to see a polite young lad stood sweetly, hair laid flat and shirt tucked in, with a charming bouquet of roses. “For your dad, my lovely. I’ve been trying to see ya, but the guy’s got you locked up, y’know,” your dear highschool sweetheart sighs, handing you the flowers. It was a terribly great effort from Paul, but your dad works on Saturday mornings — you really didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Paul… or laugh.