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The summer of 1976 was unforgettable. It was long, hot and dry. Drought stalked the British countryside, drying up streams and turning this green and pleasant land brown. But what I remember most from that summer is long afternoons lugging sacks of potatoes. Along with my two older brothers, I was working at my father’s supermarket in Gloucester. My father was a firm believer in us getting stuck in. “If you can’t carry a sack of potatoes, you’re no use to me,” he’d tell us. So we turned things like carrying potatoes into a contest and made it fun. Sometimes, however dull or mundane a job, you have to get stuck in and get it done. No one should ever think they are above doing those hard, menial jobs.