Born in 1971

Back in 1971, the whole country felt like it was shifting gears, though we were all far too busy squinting at our new decimal coins to notice the grand scheme of things. I remember the absolute muddle of "New Pence" and how we all missed the weight of a thru’penny bit in our pockets. It was a proper scorcher of a summer, the kind where the tarmac bubbled and you’d treat yourself to a dripping Mop Top or a Lyons Maid lolly while T-Rex’s *Get It On* blared out of every transistor radio on the pebble beaches.

If you weren't down the cinema watching *Diamonds Are Forever*, you were huddled around the telly for *The Generation Game*, laughing at Bruce Forsyth while tucking into a plate of Fray Bentos pie or some Smash mash. It wasn't all sunshine, of course—the postal strike meant letters took an age—but there was a real magic in the air. Kids were obsessed with Space Hoppers and Clackers, creating a constant rhythmic thudding on every council estate, and the older lot were debating whether that new fellow, Kevin Keegan, would actually do any good at Liverpool.

It was a simpler, slower spin of the world, bathed in the orange glow of a streetlamp.