Being 58 by Phil Andrews

Being 58 years of age means being able to look back with yearning and a little humour to the sun-drenched, care-free days of the 1970s, and in particular to that long hot summer for which we still remember 1976.

Life goes on, and all these years down the line we are older, and in many ways wiser, than we were when John Curry waltzed his way majestically around the ice to Olympic gold, and Brotherhood of Man won the Eurovision Song Contest with that twee dance and cute, catchy number.

It seems a lifetime ago that James Hunt won his epic world motor racing championship battle with Niki Lauda, an intrepid Israeli commando force landed en masse at Uganda’s Entebbe airport and Concorde made its maiden passenger voyage across the Atlantic, and yet it was but in the blinking of a ladybird’s eye.

A touching retrospective to the novel The Best Year Of Our Lives, the booklet takes us back to a time that was simpler and in many ways gentler. Sometimes melancholy, sometimes grumpy, but always reflective, Being 58 looks to the world as it was, and as it is today, and tries to make sense of it all.

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