This next article is written by Mr. Hancock and it is how he thinks Max Boyce would relive an incident before a live audience. Over to you Max!

And talking about the old days, you know, when Cliff Morgan was wearing the number 10 shirt. Actually it was 6 in those days. Full back was number 1 and wing forward was 15 (16 if he was playing for Swansea - superstitious lot down there). Anyhow, you know why they changed the number round and gave the low numbers to the forwards (one to eight). One to Charlie, Two for Bobbie … before this there were so many forwards who couldn't count beyond ten, half the packs in west Wales didn't know what position they were supposed to be playing.

But there were serious things for kids to do in those days. Like going round for the Missionary. Have you ever done that? You'd go to Sunday school on a sunny summer's day and this stranger would get up in the pulpit and tell you about darkest Africa --you get some funny ideas as a kid don't you - when these people spoke of darkest Africa, I always thought the people hadn't got a shilling for the light - that's why I thought I was collecting shillings for the lights of Africa, Ahhhhh!

There we were after the Sunday school queuing up to get our cards for collecting our shillings. Pushing and shoving. I'm sure that's why Glynneath always had a good pack, all the training we did by the Big Seat in Addoldy on a Sunday. And I'll tell you something; it's a good job for England that they don't allow girls to play rugby; there were a few good forwards there among the gentler sex. Legs like pit props and shoulders like wardrobes. All that shoving had its purpose, of course. We wanted to be first out to get to the houses of the good payers, the places where you could be sure of a lovely silver shilling, a pat on the head and a peardrop for being a good boy and trying to switch the lights on in darkest Africa.

Der but you don't half see life, going round the houses with your Missionary card in one hand and a bag of barley sugar in the other…It's true. Seven years old, getting your first lessons in human nature.

(Much of the next part will involve a swapping of character. Max Boyce (M.B.) and the people who answer the door. Each visit punctuated by a knock at an imaginary door - and a lick at an imaginary barley sugar).

There I was wide-eyed and innocent. First house Mrs. Eliza Probert.

(M.B. as a child): Anything for the Missionary Mrs. Probert? Lights for Africa, Mrs. Probert.

(M.B. as himself - aside): She's got a stack of it man. Buried three husbands. All of them foremen in Wimpey's. Owns half a street in Cwmgwrach. You watch her now.

(M.B. as a child): Would you like a suck of my barley sugar Mrs. Probert?

Mrs. P. (with a silly smarmy "posh" artificial voice and manner): No thank you, good boy. I never eat sweets.

(M.B. as a child): The Missionary?

Mrs. P: I've given love.

(M.B. as a child): But I don't mind. You can give more if you want.

Mrs. P. (with a silly little laugh): I'm only a poor widow, you see. If I keep on giving to boys like you I'll be needing the Missionary myself.

(M.B. as himself): Strike one, but not for nothing was I known as Try Again Max. Down the street to Idris Philpott. Perhaps I'll catch him a bit drunk. He might give me a pound.

M.B. as a child with an imaginary knock: Couple of moments silence.

(M.B. older aside): It's only half past two. P'raps he's not up yet. Aye there he clomping down the stairs. Awful big man, 25 stone! (M.B. imitates). Here he comes. Good gracious. He's in his vest and pants with his collier's boots on.