Born in 1987

Back in 1987, the British Isles felt like a world of stark contrasts, all wrapped in the smell of hairspray and leaded petrol. You couldn’t walk past a Wimpy without hearing Rick Astley’s "Never Gonna Give You Up" blaring from a transistor radio, yet the mood was frequently interrupted by the sheer ferocity of the weather. We all remember the Great Storm in October; Michael Fish told us not to worry, only for half the trees in Sevenoaks to end up horizontal by morning.

If you weren’t clearing branches, you were likely huddled indoors watching *Neighbours* as it made its UK debut, or perhaps catching *The Running Man* at the local Odeon. Kids were absolutely obsessed with Sylvanian Families or trying to master the Yo-yo again, while the older lot were drinking pints of Skol or a cheeky Taboo and lemonade. The news was dominated by the Zeebrugge disaster and the buzz of the first mobile phone calls—bricks that cost a fortune—yet life felt wonderfully slow.

We’d spend Sunday afternoons tucking into a Findus Crispy Pancake, waiting for the Top 40 countdown, blissfully unaware of how much the world was about to change. It was a bit loud, a bit grey, and utterly brilliant.