Eating bread and dripping
and reading 'ripping yarns'
life was that and so much more
back in nineteen sixty-four,

A coal fire had me sitting
watching mother knitting
dad was doing some ironing
a man ahead of his time.

Frank Finlay had me blushing,
blood rushing
I won't say where,
but I was eight, too young to know
and too early for me to care.