I was 19 as the year began. Technically an adult, drinking in pubs and even had my own car; a 1968 Mini Clubman estate, blue with fake wood side panels. I still lived with my parents even though my government training scheme placement had turned into a full-time job, albeit a very low paying one.
I worked alternate weeks on a night-shift until 11pm but that was OK; I listened to Janice Long and John Peel while I worked, writing down what caught my ear to buy at the weekend.
When not working, evenings were spent rehearsing with the band, down one of the local village pubs and, at weekends, Chedworth discos!
It all sounds very mundane now but, looking back, it was probably the start of one of my happiest periods as an immature young adult.
