“No, I’ll have my grandson come over and you can explain it to him. He is much better than me with Computers and the internet,” She said.“That...��s fine, but the checks are made out to you,” I demanded.“Sure no problem,” Bitsy said. “You will at least be the face of the company. Your grandson is not to tell anyone that he works for me. If he does he will risk a prison sentence. He is just doing his old granny a favor, if anyone should ask.“Of course,” she agreed.“Don’t worry everything you are. This story is fictional and copyright remains with me. It was posted by me over a year ago but in celebration of a new Part 3, I have re-posted this part after re-editing for grammar, punctuation and typo errors.---Part 1Mid-December, 1978, Bristol, England.Suddenly, the rugby ball bounced loose from the ruck and stuck in the brown glutinous mud with a splat. All around there were shouts, sweat and slipping boots. My bursting lungs and screaming leg muscles pushed me forwards, hoping to scoop. More

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