It was a good time to wield a poison pen.
Zero warbling.
People armoured up in full Patagonia just to walk to work.
With each new multi-million development to darken the skyline, our appetite for “culture” becomes more acute.
Sheffield made no bones about being a working town, its air glutted with sulphur and gas.
A sheep foetus becomes a grinning, fragile dinosaur, suspended mid-leap.
“You had to be tough to go the matinee.”
Meanwhile another visitor ruefully collected his final bottle of the distinctive mustard he had come to love.