It was late Spring of 1984, the Euro championships were in France and my parents had gone on an early vacation, to former Yougoslavia, with neighbors from the complex. While they were enjoying the great weather around Dubrobvnik, my grandparents had come over to watch me. Aged 9 I was rather self-sustaining already, at least if that meant eating crisps and drinking whichever cold thing I found in the fridge but my cooking skills were below par. Or inexistent.

I had no problem being alone with myself, after all there was cable TV, books, the football ground around the corner, the Olympic swimming pool, and of course that almighty Commodore 64.

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