... and, I should add, that my own memories of the early 50s were of living in what was then a dirty little mill town on the edge of the Pennines. It seemed to rain all the time and there was a haze of dirty smoke that hung permanenently over the place - easily visible from Rivington Pike, the nearest spot to walk out to get away from it. My worst memory is of my dentist, who put the fear of God into me when he started to foot-treadle his drill.

I went back to the village - more like a small town now - a year or two ago and it was immensely cleaner and brighter, if more built-upon than I remembered. Good old days? Bu99er them.