It was a dull and quite miserable Saturday afternoon when my new fround friend, who had recently returned from living in Canada for five years with his parents, convinced me to go and see his beloved Man City take on Wolves? Newcastle? Liverpool? – who knows? The opponents that day were irrelevant. The important thing was two 11 year old friends taking the 53 bus from Belle Vue, ready to part with their 4 shillings (or 20p as it would soon become) to sit in the front row of the Platt Lane stand, directly behind the goal, sipping piping hot Bovril and feasting on a meat and potato pie. Watching the likes of Lee, Bell and Summerbee destroy the opposition by six goals to one, or was it seven? Harry Dowd, our trusty keeper, turning round while the ball was at the scoreboard end and talking to us as if we were mates. Yes, it was a different era but that one experience made me a Blue for life. Before kick-off, I stood outside the Platt Lane car park, collecting the autographs of the City players as they arrived. They stopped and chatted with us. It made us feel 12′ tall. And 39 years later, that kindness and consideration the players show when meeting the fans still exists. With all the money we could wish for at our club’s disposal, we remain a friendly family club. Man City and the players are the loves of our lives.