A ten bob note was proper money in my young day. I loved them, nice brown warm things not cold and austere like greeny bluey quids. You could get a couple of joints' worth of decent weed with one if you were in luck and The Man had been round in his modest non-attention-attracting low-powered black jalopy. Ratty teaheads clustering round the secondary points - Spade cafés and restaurants and one or two notorious streets - and griping about the product... Notting Hill in the fifties, just like yesterday (I've forgotten most of what has happened since).
:o}
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