The Essence of the Seventies: A Splash of Brut

If you were a young man coming of age in the 1960s or 70s, your grooming routine likely culminated in a very specific, ritualistic splash of green liquid. We didn't just "apply" aftershave; we used Brut. With its distinct glass bottle and that unapologetically bold scent, Brut wasn't just a fragrance—it was a statement of character.

The "Parfum de Caractère"

The Brut bottle was a mainstay on bathroom shelves across the country. Whether it was the classic tall bottle with the silver medallion or the squat, curved Après-Rasage glass flacon, the deep green color promised a "Parfum de Caractère" that was impossible to mistake for anything else.

• The Scent: It was a heavy, aromatic punch of moss, spice, and confidence.
• The Ritual: You’d splash it on after a close shave, usually right before heading out for a Saturday night.
• The Marketing: We all remember the commercials featuring sports stars like Henry Cooper or Kevin Keegan, urging us to "splash it all over." It made us feel like we were part of an elite club of masculinity.

A Saturday Night Preparation

The use of Brut was often the final piece of a much larger puzzle. Before the splash, there was the careful selection of a wide-collared shirt—perhaps something with a bold pattern like the one Donny Osmond might wear—and a sharp blazer.

As you checked your reflection, you might see your Look-in magazine on the dresser, featuring the Jackson 5, or your latest Beano Book tucked under the bed. The air in the room would be thick with the scent of Brut, mixing with the warmth coming from the gas fire in the living room downstairs.

More Than Just a Smell

For many of us, Brut represents a bridge between childhood and adulthood. It was the scent of our first dates, our first jobs, and our first attempts at being "men of the world." It belonged to the same era of tactile icons as the Meccano sets we built as lads or the Airfix models of the SR.N4 Hovercraft we meticulously painted.

Even the local High Street felt like it smelled of Brut on a Friday evening, as people popped into shops like Setchfields to pick up last-minute supplies or records. It was a time of Watneys Party Seven and Huntley & Palmers family tins—a time of social gatherings where the bold scent of green aftershave was the unofficial uniform of the night.

An Enduring Memory

While fragrance trends have moved toward lighter, more subtle notes, the image of that green bottle still carries an incredible nostalgic weight. It evokes the "Adventure in Space and Time" that was our youth, from watching the very first Doctor Who to dreaming of flying in a Thunderbird.

Brut was the smell of an era—one defined by bold choices, high hopes, and the simple belief that if you "splashed it all over," you were ready for anything.

Showtime in the Spare Room: The Magic of the Give-A-Show Projector

Before the era of tablets and on-demand streaming, if you wanted to see your favorite cartoon characters "on the big screen," you didn't head to the cinema—you waited for the sun to go down, pinned a white sheet to the living room wall, and reached for your Kenner Give-A-Show Projector. This bright red, battery-operated marvel was more than just a toy; it was a home theater system for the junior generation, and for those of us lucky enough to own one, it provided hours of flickering, wide-eyed entertainment.

A Cinema in a Box

The Give-A-Show Projector set was a masterpiece of colorful packaging that promised a world of adventure.

• The Library: A standard set came with a staggering 112 color slides, divided into 16 separate shows.
• The Stars: The roster was a "who's who" of animation royalty, featuring Huckleberry Hound, Yogi Bear, The Flintstones, and Quick Draw McGraw.
• The Mechanism: Each show was contained on a long, green-bordered card strip featuring seven individual 35mm color slides. You would slide the strip into the side of the projector and manually advance it to tell the story.

"Projecting Pictures Up to 5 Feet Square"

The technical simplicity was part of the charm. There was no sound, so the "projectionist" (usually the oldest sibling) would have to read the captions aloud, often putting on dramatic voices for Fred Flintstone or Barney Rubble as their stone-age antics appeared on the wall.

The box boasted that it could project images "up to 5 feet square," which, in the context of a small bedroom, felt like an absolute IMAX experience. You learned early on about the importance of focus, twisting the blue-rimmed lens at the front to get the sharpest possible image of Yogi Bear swiping a picnic basket.

The Saturday Night Feature

The projector was a staple of indoor play, sitting on the shelf alongside our Meccano sets and Airfix models. It was the perfect activity for a rainy afternoon or a sleepover. We’d gather around the warm glow of the gas fire, open a fresh Huntley & Palmers Family Circle tin, and settle in for a "double feature" of Hanna-Barbera classics.

There was a certain tactile joy in organizing the slides, keeping them neatly in their white cardboard slots within the box. It gave us a sense of ownership over our entertainment, long before we were reading Look-in to find out when our favorite shows were on the "real" TV.

A Lasting Impression

Looking back at that red plastic projector today, it’s a reminder of a time when "interactive" meant physically moving a slide and using your own voice to tell a story. It belonged to an era of creative play that included building entire worlds from Meccano or getting lost in the pages of a Beano Book.

The Give-A-Show Projector didn't just show us pictures; it taught us the magic of the dark and the thrill of the "reveal". It turned every living room into a theater and every child into a storyteller.