Spark a match and light up that old Woodbine. Crowded around treasured Wisden Almanacs. I fear a Woolworth life. Talking of leather-bound first editions. Pick up your railway platform paperbacks. Spark a match and light up that old Woodbine.No longer to be any distinction. Between high and low: all to be revamped. I fear a Woolworth life. Grey provincial bore, lost in commotion. Sceptical of the vulgar cadillacs. Spark a match and light up that old Woodbine. Soon to be all just one big audition. Nothing worthwhile is to be left intact. I fear a Woolworth life. Pore over essays in 'The Listener'. Scholarship boys, bicycles:a last stand. Spark a match and light up that old Woodbine. I fear a Woolworth life. Images of 1957. A Managing Director of a chain of raincoat shops, never had it so good 'New Look' wife with a new fangled migraine. Dining table hewn from fine plywood. Those raincoat shops, Never had it so good. Cans of Tizer in every British fridge. Dining table hewn from fine plywood. A nation swathed in affluence and Vimto. Cans of Tizer in every British fridge. Mink grey rotary dial telephones. A nation swathed in affluence and Vimto Bakelite nights waiting in petticoats. Mink grey rotary dial telephones. That reassuring purr, voluptuous. Bakelite nights waiting in petticoats. For a chain of Managing Directors. Yesterday... in the milk bar. White-hot heat: an old social revolution. Melts like a soft Amaretti biscuit. Shelved polytechnic textbook refugee, Austere vestige of the days before everyone had designs on cover, inlay and spine.