I was three when Margaret Thatcher was first elected, and my memories of the 1980s are vague.
I do clearly remember going to school in my mum’s white Austin Allegro with the floor so rusty you weren’t allowed to tap your feet. As a treat we would go to Bejam to buy tubs of frozen strawberry mousse or stacks of mini pizzas topped with one or two cubes of frozen tomato. I remember watching footage of exploding ships from the Falklands conflict and, most clearly, of Diego Maradona scoring against England in the World Cup.
Things felt tight, there was no extravagance, but was I aware that interest rates were 15 per cent? Of course not. It’s not the kind of question you ask your
