Born in 1978

Back in 1978, the world felt a bit smaller and a whole lot louder, usually because someone next door was blasting *Rivers of Babylon* on a record player that skipped if you breathed too hard. It was a proper muddle of a year; you’d be sitting there in a tank top, tucking into a plate of Findus Crispy Pancakes or maybe some Arctic Roll if it was a birthday, while the telly hummed with the theme tune to *Grange Hill*, which had just started and felt terribly rebellious. We were all obsessed with the big screen too—either queuing round the block to see *Grease* for the fifth time or whispering about that new *Star Wars* film that had finally landed properly.

I remember the news being a right storm, what with the "Winter of Discontent" looming and the bins piling up, yet we still found five pence for a Marathon bar or a pack of Space Raiders. The summer was actually a scorcher, unlike the drenching we got later on, and if you weren't out on your Grifter bike until the streetlights flickered on, you were probably inside trying to master a Simon electronic game. It wasn't perfect, but Lord, it had heart.