Christopher Colclough and I took the same trains to our different Manchester schools, and a lifelong friendship developed. Chris’s savings, and his earnings as a parks gardener during undergraduate vacations, allowed him to purchase a secondhand sports car and indulge his impish sense of humour. Long before the days of drink-driving laws he fitted this vehicle with tubing and a brass tap on the dashboard that would dispense beer pumped from a keg in the boot. He wore his achievements as an economist lightly and was equally at home walking the hills around our native Glossop.
