Denim flares and Dancing Queen jumpsuits. Nights watching Top of the Pops, hoping for a glimpse of Bolan and Bowie, then strutting our stuff Travolta style to Saturday Night Fever.
Seventies swirly wallpaper might have made our eyes sting, but at least there was instant potato mash and Black Forest gateau for dessert. This was the decade we played Pong, then swapped our platform boots for Doc Martins and pogoed to punk.
Viking One might not have found Life on Mars, but we were too busy being in love with Debbie Harry to really care.