Born on 1 January 1986

Back in 1986, life felt like it was played out in the primary colours of a United Colors of Benetton advert, even if the weather didn’t always play ball. I remember that relentless Big Freeze in February, teeth chattering while waiting for a bus that never came, only to retreat indoors for a Findus Crispy Pancake and a glass of fizzy Top Deck. It was the year of *Top Gun* at the local Odeon—everyone suddenly wearing aviators—and if you weren't humming *Sledgehammer* by Peter Gabriel, you were likely obsessed with the *Neighbours* launch on the BBC.

We all lived for the drama of the EastEnders two-hander with Den and Angie, though the news was heavier, dominated by the shadow of Chernobyl and the dread of the "Don't Die of Ignorance" leaflets landing on our doormats. Kids were trading Garbage Pail Kids stickers or begging for a Commodore 64, while the older lot were down the pub drinking Holsten Pils, arguing about Maradona’s "Hand of God" at the World Cup. It was a strange, vibrant muddle; we were worried about the Cold War one minute, then dancing to Chris de Burgh the next.

It wasn't perfect, but it was ours.