The more focused, more critical, more discerning, more sceptical, more wary, more informed, more judgemental, more inquisitive, more reticent, more relentless, more cliqueish, more intransient, more quizical, more selfish, more righteous, more predjudice, more holier than thou, I seem to become.

Less insightful, less caring, less loving, less giving, less lenient, less understanding, less benevolent, less moved, less motivated, less balanced, less tolerant, less charitable, less humane, less human, I feel.

Is what my years have brought me wrapped in the cynism of decades, a lifetime of being a person of and result of our times.

Not given to religion as a child outside of the annual excitement of the advent of Christmas which always conjured feelings of a peculiar happiness derived from something external yet comforting, indeed goodwill to all men. It was a time of genuine happiness both personal and collective. A wondrous time eminating from the birth of Jesus Christ.

And for me and all the members of our family that was it, but nevertheless in that annual festive season the Christian message laid bare for all comers. And of course, must not forget the Christmas gifts wrapped in Christmas paper and brightly coloured ribbon.

Gifts, actually toys a very important part of the whole festivity to a nine year old boy. The same importance for my mother for an entirely different reason, that of the stress and worry of getting the money together for all the presents for all the children, to make Christmas what Christmas was and should be a time of festive joy.

I was born in 1954 and in 1963 I was 9 and the world was on the verge of a tidal, if not a tsunami, yes tsunami seismic social shift. In it's wake it left Victorian values, etiquette, manners and structure foundering on the concrete pavements and ancient yet commonplace oil fired street lamps dimming for the last time as a new dawn, a new era arose.

For me and so many other children the free for all that was the sixties and the vanguard of a brave new world was a 'Swiss family Robinson, Alladin, Sinbad, Arabian Knights, Mary Poppins unfolding before our very eyes. All the events recollectable chronologically by the upsurge of pop groups whose songs hit the airwaves like a squadron of Spitfires and Hurricanes carrying a nations hopes, inspiration, happiness and embrace of things to come.

And for the English the pinnacle of sporting achievement when England beat Germany in the 1966 World Cup Final with a resounding show of skill, teamwork and tenacity to overcome the old foe.

Celebrations the like of which had not been seen since the coronation of Queen Elizabeth, and once again when they brought our boys back from the Falklands, dead, dying and survivors. Battered but unbowed triumphant once again in the defence of Queen and Country rallying to the cries from a distant British Outpost once again at the limits of a now depleted empire, once again to fight for the right of freedom and self determination in 1982.

So the sixties we're a time when the future was given over to the 'Children of the Revolution'. The very one Marc Bolan and T. Rex sang about.

The 60's embraced the 70's and so much social upheaval reflecting barriers being removed, die-hard entrenched attitudes we're being...