Born in 1968

If you were born in 1968, you arrived in a Britain that felt like it was spinning between two different worlds. We were still scrubbing doorsteps and drinking lukewarm Watneys Red Barrel, yet everything felt brand new. I remember the air being thick with coal smoke and the smell of toasted muffins, while Mary Hopkin’s "Those Were the Days" seemed to follow you into every chip shop.

It was the year we all huddled around the box to watch the very first episode of *Dad’s Army*, laughing at Mainwaring before the news came on to show us those heartbreaking images from the Biafran War or the chaos in Paris. At the cinema, you’d queue around the block for *Oliver!* or get your mind blown by *2001: A Space Odyssey*.

The summer was a bit of a washout, honestly—standard British drizzle—but we didn't care because United had just won the European Cup at Wembley. Kids were obsessed with Slinkys and those orange Hot Wheels tracks that snaked across the linoleum, and if you were lucky, dinner was a Vesta curry followed by a tin of Del Monte peaches. It wasn't all sunshine, but there was this incredible sense that the future was finally starting to happen right under our noses.