WHAT AN ESTATE TO BE IN

​The smell of creosote and freshly cut grass were carried by a warm summer breeze as I cruised down the hill on my red and black BMX toward my cul-de-sac. It was July 1985; I was 10, and it was the first week of school holidays. This new-build housing estate on the edge of Dartmoor was my playground, and I couldn't have been happier. I spotted my friends on the corner and pulled hard on my back brake, dragging the back wheel in a semicircle to leave as long a skid as possible to try and impress the others - we all did this. The longer the line of burned rubber, the better!

The four of us sat on our bikes talking about making BMX jumps. Some of us didn't have t-shirts on, myself included, but as to where mine was, I wasn't sure—maybe Richard's garden, maybe Scott's—and at that moment I didn't really care. One thing we all had in common were wet shorts and shoes, and I could feel the water squelching against my soles in my soaked velcro trainers.

We'd had sandwiches at Scott's house, played with Star Wars figures in his garden, then soaked each other with the garden hose, including most of the garden itself. Scott's dad had just finished mowing the lawn, and now our legs were itchy and covered in blades of freshly cut grass, because we were also chucking this at each other. We looked like we had swam in a pool full of grass, with blades stuck to our arms and legs.

We watched a Pickfords lorry pull up to a house, as two large men in white vests proceeded to unload tea chests, tables, chairs, sideboards, bikes, and white goods. The new family had also just arrived and carried suitcases and smaller items from their Renault. A boy roughly the same age as us followed behind with a stack of board games in his arms before disappearing up the stairs to his brand-new bedroom. Just a few days later, Jason was joining in with cops and robbers, building dens in the nearby fields, and constructing bike ramps out of anything we could get our hands on.

Someone somewhere was having a barbecue, and the smell of coal and a hint of paraffin caused our noses to twitch, and we tried to guess where it was coming from.

The estate was already three years-old, but it still felt as new as the day we arrived, and the pristine pebble-dashed new-build houses positively gleamed in the Devon sunshine. 

Outside on a nearby driveway, a recently washed dark green Sierra sparkled as the owner wiped a wing mirror with a cloth, wound up the hose, and closed the garage door.

A baby blue Bedford ice cream van turned into the estate as the familiar sound of Greensleeves began to play. Some of us had a few coins in our damp pockets, so we took off after the van, pedalling furiously to be the first in line. As soon as the sliding window was opened, we jostled to be served first. Four boys, four ice pops, four different flavours.

We tore off the top of our Mr Freeze pops with our teeth, and in no time at all, our lips and tongues were tinged with blues, greens, and reds. Juice dribbled down onto our shorts and legs as we sat on our bikes, enjoying our rapidly melting ice pops under the late afternoon sun, just as the last lawnmower fell silent and the ice cream van drove out of the estate.

We too headed back to our homes, shouting  goodbyes as we went. I left my wet trainers at the door, greeted my mum, and raced through the house to the back garden. There was Dad, also without a shirt, cutting a bush with the shears. He greeted me, then pointed at a distant InterCity 125 making its way toward Plymouth. I could make out the blue and yellow livery and heard the distinctive diesel engine that always remined me of the sound a washing machine made as it started a spin cycle.

It was time for a bath to wash away the sweat, dirt, and grass. I used to try and lay as still as possible in the water, with Matey bubblebath piled high like mountains. Dinner - potato waffles, beans, and sausages, there could be no better end to a day!

After dinner, there was time to play with Lego, but I was struggling to keep my eyes open - too much sun today, and time to hit those wooden hills...

My window was slightly ajar to let in the light evening breeze, which gently fluttered the corners of my curtains. It was still light outside, but just dark enough in my room to make out the ET glow-in-the-dark stickers on the end of my bookshelf. My poorly put together Airfix Concorde was attached to the ceiling with some fishing line,  and I watched it  gently rock from side to side.

Downstairs, mum and dad were watching something funny;  I tried to make out what it was,  but I had no clue. Then I heard the muffled sound of  "And it's goodnight from me, and it's goodnight from him."

My shoulders were a little red, but I felt refreshed, and my pillow soon started to smell of Vosene shampoo. My eyes grew heavy, I held my teddy tight, and I wondered what had happened to my tee shirt. I'll find it tomorrow, I thought.