When I was a kid, my dad used to take me and my brother to watch Norwich train on a Friday before a home match at the old Trowse training ground (now a housing estate). This was a big treat, we didn't live in Norfolk and we'd make the journey from Wiltshire on the Thursday night, and arrive on the Friday morning to watch them go through their paces. One time we parked up in the car park and somehow my dad managed to lock his keys in the car. Word got round, and one of the players, Greg Downs, volunteered to break into the car and retrieve the keys. He did this in the manner of someone who'd clearly done it before. I assumed it was a skill he'd acquired from a misspent youth. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but I thought it was funny that after he retired from playing, he became a policeman, and I always wondered whether he continued to use that skill in his new profession.
The picture attached is from that training ground, but another visit, I'm sitting on John Bond's knee - the idea of this happening these days... Martin Peters, world cup winner, played for us at that point, a wonderful player, such grace and skill on the ball.
From left to right: Jimmy Neighbour, my younger bro, Martin Peters, Kevin Keelan, John Bond, me, Tony Powell