The Front by Neil Scotten It would be easy to write about the summer holidays of my youth. If I described in a lightly critical way my family’s week-long excursions to the Isle of Wight, Eastbourne, Bournemouth, Westward Ho! and so on, many other pre-package holiday children of the sixties might recall with sympathy, similar experiences of bittersweet misery. I could write about the smell which greeted us every time we woke at whatever one-star B&B we found ourselves in […]