Heels for dust: Convoluted thinking concerning the early Sixties

Monday, 7 May 2018

Convoluted thinking concerning the early Sixties

Smile! (thinks - 63, I'm still in my early sixties, right?)

Today is my birthday. I am 63 years old. Asserting the fact baldly does not soften the blow, I see no advantages in growing older. Admittedly, as birthdays go, a 63rd is not especially significant or scary, like those containing a zero. That being said, it is not quite utterly innocuous and the question remains can I, as a 63 year old, still claim to be in my 'early sixties', which undoubtedly are preferable to being in your mid-sixties. That's verging on the elderly.

For the past few days I have been marshalling the power of cultural history hoping it comes to the rescue by proving irrefutably that the number 63 is associated with the early 60s. Googling 'events that year' turned up the Kennedy assassination, the Profumo Affair, the launch of Telstar 2, and the Beatles first chart successes. Surely these are all early sixties events - so, through the magic of false analogy and a neat, but spurious argument, it follows that if the 1963 shooting in Dallas happened during the early 60s, then aged 63, I must be in my early sixties too. Suddenly I feel much better.

All this musing about 1963 has made me realise something else. It is the first year I have substantial memories about. I do have snippets of earlier memories but they are all random snapshots - walking with my grandmother, being in my pushchair in the Post Office, standing on my tiptoes peering out of the front window. However I remember joined up events from 1963. I have no recollection at all of the Kennedy assassination, but I do remember the Profumo Affair, as an eight year old asking awkward questions, 'What is a call-girl?' I never did get a straight answer, or at least one that made any sense. I also recall my mother being admonished by a friend of my Grandmother for allowing me to read the 'News of the World'. By the standards of the time I guess I grew up in a liberal household, allowed, encouraged even, to read whatever I liked.

Other bits of 1963 were destined to remain fixed in my memory. It was the year my parents bought a Dansette, record player. Goodbye ancient pre-war 78s, the family's soundtrack became instantly more contemporary and varied - my sister's Beatles and Rolling Stones records, Rogers and Hammerstein musicals loved by my mother and my Dad's penchant for dire Scottish dance band music. My first record purchase was an EP of music from the film 'Summer Holiday' starring Cliff Richard. It's the first film I remember really liking. I was transfixed by the exotic foreign places, especially the part filmed with the Acropolis as a backdrop. We did not have a TV, and even if we had, then the grainy 425 lines could never match Mediterranean sunshine in glorious Technicolor. I really do wonder if the roots of my wanderlust can found in that second-rate cheesy teen movie.

-Some people can claim really cool records as the first thing they bought,
.unfortunately in my case...

So, back to now - we spent the morning at Sully's weekly market shopping for a birthday meal - we are going to attempt griddled asparagus wrapped in streaky bacon - I think it's an Yotam Ottolhengi recipe. We did think about doing something with griddled pears, honey and creme fraise, but the pears we bought have not ripened. So we bought some strawberries instead as they are just coming into season here, and a bottle of fizzy Vouvray to accompany them. That's for this evening. Right now I think we are going for a pedal up the Loire cycle track for a few kilometres.

Sully's Monday market

Onion guy

& egg and cheese dude

Fab 30s garage in the town centre.

It is another beautiful day. It's ok. I guess being 63, especially having the freedom to wander as you will, to enjoy sunny days and good times on your own terms. Still, there is no way I am going to relish hitting my mid-sixties, so I had better make the most of the next twelve months.