Saturday, January 02, 2016


I just got back from England (HEARD of it?!?!?) and stumbled into this article about 1966, the greatest year to be a Brit:
But one year, one glorious year, did live up to the legend. It was 1966, and it began exactly half a century ago this week. Unbelievably to me, it is now distant enough to be considered a part of history. To be young then, and to be lucky enough to be living in Britain, was, in words borrowed from William Wordsworth, 'very heaven'.

By 1966, World War II had been over for more than 20 years, and young people, who had little or no memory of the Blitz, had grown up on free education, the NHS, almost full employment and the abolition of National Service.

We were, I still believe, the luckiest generation ever, as we rejoiced in our millions on July 30, 1966, after Geoff Hurst made it 4-2 to England against West Germany. And, as captain Bobby Moore was handed the Jules Rimet trophy, it felt as though we truly were on top of the world — and not just in football. As the Kinks sang that summer, it really was a Sunny Afternoon.
1966 was such a good year that my third-favorite Beatles song wasn't even the A-side to the single that came out that wasn't even on one of the greatest albums of all time that came out that year, Revolver.

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