Peterborough

"Historian Dominic Sandbrook takes us on an eye opening journey into Britain in the 1970s." Well, not really eye-opening. Same old shit, really. And Dominic was born in 1974 and now lives in Chipping Norton so what the fuck does he know about the 70s or your ordinary person? People wanted more in the 70s and they got it. They bought and decorated their own homes, they took foreign holidays, taking their food and drink with them. But they also discovered wine and sexy shortarse Spanish waiters. The Heath Government privatised Thomas Cook and Lunn Poly and the miners, furious that the holidays they couldn't afford had been sold off, brought the Government down. The working class Marc Bolan wore make up so miners grew their hair and David Bowie made bisexuals attractive to teenage girls. Edward Heath took us into Europe and let in those hordes of Asians who had been kicked out of Uganda. There were street demonstrations protesting about the influx and about Heath's French accent. Said Asians and thousands of London's financially cleansed white working class moved to Peterborough. Peterborough was the soul of the 70s.

It's Not As Easy As It Used To Be

I was out with some middle aged women friends of mine the other evening, listening to stories from lives I cannot contemplate.

Hearing all about the Moulin Rouge themed hen night, the cab driver's reaction to having such a break from the norm, or was this the norm for a Saturday night?

They were fifteen women and one man, a gay man, good-looking ("why are they always so good-looking? It's such a waste").

"Was he camp?" I said, winding her up.

"Oh no, he was well-built, all-man. You would never tell from looking at him."

And that is how things are nowadays, you can't tell from looking at people.

Standing on the Shoulders of the Jolly Green Giant

Noel Gallagher's interview by Mark Lawson was not just an advert for his Low Flying Pigeons project, oh no. Lawson got to the heart of the man.

Gallagher didn't exactly have the most advantageous of upbringings, beaten by his dad and not in the least inspired by school.

But Lawson wanted to get to the heart of the tragedy of Gallagher's failure to conform.

"And did they used to give you the talk? 'You're obviously a bright boy, you could do something with this.' Or did they just ignore you?"

Of course they didn't give him the talk. It wasn't as if he was a gifted scholar, able to fit in if only he applied himself and stopped hanging around with the wrong sorts. He had no interest whatsoever in any subject. Once he'd learnt to read and write that was it. Everything else was just boring and irrelevant to the future of a working class kid with interests as varied as music and football. And Noel was unique amongst the local lads in that he was actually interested in something other than Man City.

"You could do something with this". With this intelligence you could be middle class. You could learn to take an interest in science or literature, once you get into it they're really fascinating, you know. Your English teacher and your Maths teacher and your Physics teacher are itching to get you enthused. A boy with your intelligence shouldn't waste that intelligence, there are fields of study, vast open fields of knowledge, all you need to do is walk outside and smell the atmosphere, breathe in deeply young man, the world is yours.

But Gallagher didn't answer the question. It was a stupid question to ask. It would have been stupid to ask it of other intelligent men and women who didn't give a stuff about the establishment's stupid subjects. But ask it of a multi-millionaire?