Driven by nostalgia for shag pile carpet, blue eye shadow, my non-drinking parents' very sophisticated (and devoid of drink) drinks cabinet, and televisions that need time to warm up, I've been re-watching Dave Allen at Large from the year of my birth, 1971 (episode five, if you're playing along at home). He tells this gag:

Today we are perhaps more affluent than we've ever been in man's history, and the strange thing about man, no matter what he has, or how much of it, he wants more. And if you think it's bad nowadays, what do you think it's going to be like in about fifty years time? Can you imagine the year two thousand and twenty? And the shop steward, taking to his members.

And he says "Alright lads, I've had a chat with the management. They've agreed to our demands. A rise of thirty-five pound a week, bringing our basic weekly wage to three hundred and fifty-two pound per week. One condition: we've got to work on a Wednesday."

And a voice from the back said "What? Every bleeding Wednesday?"

Never mind 2020. Can we imagine 1971?