Its 1959. That’s all I know for sure. Bobby has written the year, but not a date on the back of both photostrips. The old man would always say, “the fifties were just so boring”. They are twenty and eighteen. Surely they are up town, Picadilly Cirucs, larking about after work. He is in Belgravia, now cutting hair for Teezy Weezy Raymond, she’s working as a PA for an american ad agency in Soho. Mad Men before Mad Men? Are they going to eat, are they on their way to a club? Will it just be them for the evening or will be they be meeting up with the North London yiddersher hippster set? Have they blown out friday night dinner at home? It doesn’t matter. The 1950s are almost done. The long wait is over. It’s time to go out.
I recorded this a couple of summers ago. We’ve got Doreen on Ivor’s teenage escapades and the impossibility of getting him to do anything. Richard, Ivor’s nephew recalls learning to dive and going for a drive.