I opened my WordPress this morning, got to a post. A Thursday Door. Above the door was emblazoned a sign, “Grocer John’s”.

I was straight back to my youth.

Dad must have fancied himself in his own childhood, kept up with the fashion, loved his music. And he was up in Liverpool, in the early Sixties. Even now, sixty years later, the place is remembered for the Merseybeat era. It must have been a rocking time to be young up there!

Then he met Mum. Their first date, they went to see Doctor No, which must put the year at 1962. The most surprising thing, for me, therefore, was that there was ever a second!

I know because I still have his collection, but all of a sudden, he just stopped buying records.

I know why. In about 1964, they got engaged. From that point, there was a two-year period where they saved like mad, before finally marrying in 1966. Do you remember, people used to save to get married? Things like buying music stopped quite abruptly.

Now, this totally blows my mind. Can you imagine, saving so hard that you don’t even allow yourself to splurge on a 45? I know, I know, things have become cheaper over time. But it’s a good reminder. For £10 per month, I can access almost any track written in the last seventy or eighty years, and I think that’s a really good deal. In 1964, the price of a single was so significant that Dad stopped buying them altogether.

It really is a crazy mindset. If it cost too much, they simply didn’t have it. Where now, if we want that £1500 iPhone, well, we’ll find a way to get one. Without having to starve ourselves for a year in the process! I know, it’s far easier to borrow money these days, too…

It’s amazing, when we actually sit down and think, just how much has changed, just in our lifetimes.

They became more affluent over time. Dad bought a modest number of records again. For all he’d witnessed Merseybeat, his favourite artists seemed to be American “imports”. Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers – I can only imagine the excitement he must have felt at the time – and for some reason, the wrist-slashingly depressive Jim Reeves.

And he used to buy those “Hits of the Sixties” compilation albums – you know, where the songs are pleasant, but none of them were famous enough to cost the publisher more than 2p in royalties, so the compilation was pure profit?

And by listening to one of these albums, years later I discovered this track.

It always struck a chord. Maybe it was a premonition? For one, it’s a ballad, and I now know myself how enjoyable it is to create stories. And it’s sad. Tremendously so. Most of mine turn out melancholy, too. It’s not deliberate, it’s just that life is often a pile of dog-doo.

Enjoy. Maybe it stirs memories for you, too?