The 1970s. A decade as fashionable as mullets and flared trousers. One not remembered with the same rose-tinted specs as the 1960s. But the time when I started drinking beer. A worrying frailty of my own memories meant an idea to weave a book out of their fraying threads was immediately ditched. What if I could, like a lamprey, latch onto fellow oldies and drink their memories? Yes, that would work. An attempt to cling onto a vanishing past. Before my memories fade into grey dust. And to keep alive those glorious technicolour days of the 1970s.