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As I get older (I am now older than my father when he died) I start to sound more and more like a crusty old curmudgeon.
Some of the references in the poem below are earlier than my yout, although we lived in a corrugated iron shed for 6 months with no water or electrcity whilst my parents to have a house built on that land.
Nonetheless the poem below, certainly not an Ode on a Grecian Urn or The Raven, To Autumn or The Bastard from the Bush (no, I mentioned the last one to get your attention), contains some nostalgic truths that the youngsters of today will not experince or know. More's the pity.
Let me know what you think.
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