There's something beguiling and lovely about the Olden Days.
A slower pace, but harder work; labour requiring muscle. Tree and grass, axe and spade, craggy skin unable to be airbrushed away. A closer kinship to creation, and clothes that remain, oblivious to fashion. And a Prime Minister who would walk the London streets at night, trying to convince prostitutes to change their lives.
There's more colour in this photograph than its pigment might suggest.