The 60s, the early years before Stoned, Kinked Beatles teetered towards the vertical face of stardom.
The hard edge of the portcullised Thruppenny Bit pressed to my leg through a thin pocket, in the freezing Scottish wind.
It reminds me of my urgent need for Sweeties.
Before the Snickering spectre of Kit Kat crisp confection, there had not been a break in the boiled sweet bonanza, the thought of which, if not the taste, carried children through two world wars.
The only answer to my