1963

The second decade of Liz Two's reign begins on a sour note as government minister John Profumo is exposed as having shared prostitute Christine Keeler with Soviet naval attaché Eugene Ivanov, slum landlord Rackman and just about anyone else with a spare tenner.

Nevertheless, the entire nation celebrates this new era of sexual liberalism as thousands flock to buy the previously banned Lady Chatterley's lover — the first time in print that the working classes are permitted to advance on their social betters with hideously empurpled members. Times they are indeed a-changing, as somebody is later to note.

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1964

Gwynne Evans and Peter Allen become the last people to be hanged in Britain. The following year, Parliament votes to suspend the death penalty for five years and it is finally abolished in 1969.

The effects of this lamentable decision are immediately felt as the UK is overrun by terrorists, murderers, rapists, paedophiles and dole-fiddling illegal immigrants.

And, despite the threat to public order posed by angry mobs of council estate residents attacking anything beginning with "paedo" (kiddie doctors included), successive governments refuse to reinstate capital punishment.

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1965

Designer Mary Quant stuns the world as British legs are seen for the first time since the reign of Boudicca. Her miniskirt rapidly becomes a symbol for fashion-starved women who run with the baton of liberation in a veritable riot of style emancipation and oral contraception.

Naturally, the Establishment fights back via its official complaints agency, the Church of England, but it's already too late. The word on the street is this: "Pins are in, daddy-o!"

Sadly, the many offspring of the miniskirt would eventually include the tank-top and boob-tube, now banned in most civilised countries.

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1966

So, where were you on 30 July 1966?

Guaranteed to bring a tear of pride to any true Englishman's eye, our victory in the World Cup surpasses all previous national sporting achievements, including the battles of Agincourt, Trafalgar and Waterloo.

Indeed, we had not given the Germans such a righteous hammering since the fire-bombing of Dresden in 1945. Truly a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Quite literally, as it turns out. Subsequent generations come to know only the agony and despair of the penalty shoot-out, the utter stunned silence of defeat broken only by the distant rumbling of Sir Alf Ramsey turning in his grave. Still, it's lovely while it lasts...

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1967

While the whole country is still drunk on the heady wine of sporting victory, the cornucopia of success has yet one more prize to disgorge.

Competing in the Eurovision Song Contest in Vienna, shoeless waif Sandie Shaw blows away the opposition with Puppet on a String.

Establishing UK songwriters once and for all as the undisputed elite among euro popmongers, Puppet on a String remains a classic of the genre.

Now fatally compromised by the inclusion of fragments of the former Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, the Eurovision Song Contest's current composers can only cast envious eyes towards the golden days of musical excellence.

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1968

Not yet recovered from an enormous collective hangover provoked by the excesses of the previous two years, Blighty takes a well-earned rest from international affairs.

So, while Paris students run riot and the good burghers of Prague savour a brief interlude of freedom before once again taking their rightful place beneath the Soviet iron heel of oppression, Brits crack open a Party Seven and spin a few Donovan LPs. And that's pretty much it.

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1969

The apparent indolence of 1968 is, in fact, deceptive. Unbeknown to the world, top UK boffins have been secretly beavering away on Concorde, the first supersonic passenger airliner.

Incredibly, the project is a collaboration with the French, acknowledged European leaders in collaboration. Despite this, it is a literally roaring success, drawing admiring glances wherever it goes.

Except, that is, in the US. The Americans refuse to allow Concorde to land in New York, although their safety concerns appear unfounded — the World Trade Centre's twin towers have yet to be built.

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1970

The man on the left is called Edward Heath. Apparently, he became prime minister of Britain in 1970, although no-one claims to remember the event.

What everyone does remember is his presence in office immediately provoking every trade union in the land to down tools. As the nation plunges deeper into economic crisis, "Sailor" Heath is often to be seen patrolling the UK's shorelines in his yacht, desperately scanning the horizon for an IMF loan.

Still, he does eventually lead Britain into the EEC, so that's something. Sort of.

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1971

Things go from bad to worse as classic car manufacturer Rolls Royce declares itself bankrupt. The knock-on effect of this tragedy is to provoke an immediate crisis in the wedding photography market, with desperate couples forced to pose unhappily besides Ford Cortinas.

Indeed, those bearing suitcases full of the newly-decimalised currency fear that they might not again be able to indulge their taste for shameless luxury.

Thank God, then, for the Germans. Were it not for them the UK's nouveau riche would not still be enjoying this most British of automobiles.

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1972

After two decades of Liz Two, the nation struggles to cope at home and abroad. But it is events in Northern Ireland which cast the darkest shadow.

On Sunday 30 January, British paratroopers open fire on innocent, stone-throwing marchers who are protesting against internment — the policy of imprisoning suspected terrorists. Thirteen are killed.

A British-convened enquiry unsurprisingly finds the paras innocent of any wrongdoing, much to the annoyance of Bono. The fateful day is later renamed "Bloody Sunday" in honour of the U2 song of that name.

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More monumentous events in pictures

1953-1962

1963-1972

1973-1982

1983-1992

1993-2002