As a kid, the attic was always a place of interpretation, intrigue, games and organised crap. The secret part of our house that was way up there in the scary confines of the roof and most likely haunted or at least home to dead creatures.
It was however, also quite luxurious. Floor boards had been laid so you could walk around, and a layer of fabric with glued on green insulating sponge lay on top of that. It had lighting and proper seating for two, although we always sat on the floor. You had to watch your feet on bits of train set and mind not to step on the scalextric race track - my dad's grown-up-toy; bought long before my mother had conned him into fatherhood where unwanted children would descend with clumsy feet.
My brother and I never actually had our own scalextric car, but we were allowed to borrow one from my dad's collection; a black Lamborghini with yellow trim, a 1980's silver Porsche with crimson interior, a white Mercedes 290 - slightly yellowed on the corners and a yellow Lamborghini with black trim. He also had some older cars that were Formular something and modern in the 1950s.
It was our camp and my dad's attic. Meaning - if my dad was around, it was his attic and if he wasn't then it was our camp. All three of us played scalextric, but if my dad was up there it was most likely to do a bit of organising. He was always very well organised about things. In the episode leading up to the time we found his porn, my dad had made two big mistakes in being so organised.
His first mistake was building a trap door that went over the ladder hole. This typical example of thoroughness had a screwed on door handle either side and a perfect hinge mechanism that swung the door back and up. It even had a wooden stopper for it to rest on. This door gave me and my brother an increased sense of security and isolation, even though we were only in the loft.
My father's second mistake was marking the box of porn with its actual published name. 'Mayfair' was written on one of the boxes in black marker pen. You could tell that he was trying to be cunning about it because he's kind of scibbled it where all the other boxes had neatly printed letters.
He was in the packaging business my dad, and that meant had loved boxes. Just had a thing for them. Whether it be an old Quality Streets tin, a salad dressing bottle, or one of his meat boxes, he would find a use for it and label it up. Added to which, he happened to collect everything, so in the Quality Streets tin went bottle corks, the salad dressing bottle housed washing up liquid designated especially for washing the car and so on. The collection of 1970s porn was kept in three heavy duty meat boxes, stashed away in the loft.
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