Cranfield is where my dad spent a year getting his MBA on Amoco's dime so they could fully switch him from his origins in field work to upper managament. 1976 was a very good year as far as a 14 year old boy was concerned. Long hot summer that year including a summer-camp vacation with sailing etc, a foot and a half of snow that winter (both quite unusual in England), the '76 olympics with Nadia Comaneci, a new goodboy (or goodgirl actually), and in a while 10 new puppies (turns out our goodgirl was the village hoor.
) that made shoes in the back yard a really good idea, seeing Blazing Saddles for the first time when it was shown at the community clubhouse, and my first girlfriend just a couple of blocks away. Mmm, boobies!
We lived in one of the middle houses in the marked row for that year. The area behind it was just light woodland at the time, so in addition to our dog and puppies we also had the occasional hedgehog and mole in the back yard.
View attachment 491933
tldr:- Not everyone who studied at Cranfield is a worthless fucktard.