Yes, Mr.P, I still have one of those adaptors, we used to call them two-way-switches.

We would all be sitting round the radios listening to Journey Into Space on the Light Program, Dad would be constantly re-tuning the set to get rid of whistles and hums, Mother would be ironing.

The hanging light in the centre of the room would be swinging on its flex in rhythm to Mum's ironing strokes. The moving shadows used to scare me into thinking that there were Martians hiding under the table or in the dark corners.

Over a period of time the cloth covered, rubber insulated flex would fail at the ceiling rose and plunge us into darkness. More often than not, the fuse would blow. More work for Dad climbing on a chair with a candle. Worst of all would be if the meter ran out and no one had a shilling.

HAPPY DAZE.