Whenever I come across a piece of graphic work produced in the year 1976, my nose starts to twitch and I get very interested. That's the year my daughter was born – and I must have been so preoccupied by that fact that I couldn't really register what the outside world actually looked like – because I have very little spontaneous memory of the style of the day. This horrible Penguin paperback (found here) reinforces my general recollection that visually the Seventies remained a glossier, crasser version of the Sixties.