Here we are, more than halfway through a year with a number I would never have imagined when I was a teenager – 2020. And what a year it ha been so far – a winter that never seemed to end, a global pandemic and months of lockdowns, rumours of murder hornets, plagues of locusts, sex crimes and videotapes, the horrific death of George Floyd and violent law enforcement tactics, Black Lives Matter, smack-your-head political shenanigans, economies in tatters, the rise of Karens and Kens everywhere being called out for bad behaviour. Back in the Sixties, we didn’t spend time thinking that far ahead. But now that I’m a decade older than sixty, every year, every month, every day has a special meaning. I…

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