I’m an ultra-proud Child of the 80’s


Rewind the cassette tape and “Take Me Back” (Noiseworks style)

At the risk of showing my age (and general bitterness) here, I remember when you could buy a bag of mixed lollies at the milk-bar for 20 cents. It’s getting harder and harder to even find a milk bar anymore. It’s all 7/11 stores and they’re a bloody rort at that. I also remember when Maccas soft serves were like 40cents. My dad would invest $1.20 three ways to keep us girls (his three daughters) quiet during a car wash.

I remember when Telecom’s (Telstra is for hipsters) mission was to strive for, “good, better, best…..” I know we had to pay country call rates to ring Nana but I don’t remember service blackouts like there is now. Unlike mobiles a dial handset would easily last a decade.

I admit handwashing and drying dinner plates was a pain in the ass without dishwashers but at least it gave everyone something to fight about. And I don’t remember anyone calling DHS when we’d get a wet tea towel whipped around the back of our legs, either.

I remember when my Dad worked for Australia Post and they actually delivered. Anecdotally I had a parcel shipped on Sunday from NSW to Vic. Two days on… it’s in QLD and I’m told standard delivery of registered post with insurance (costing a small fortune) can take up to 7 days. Today we pay ten times more for snail mail and get second rate scratch your head in bemusement services. I digress….

For all the technological advances I’d swear the services are suffering. Which is precisely why I refuse to use self- checkouts. At the end of the day I don’t want to be the one pushed over the edge by yet another unexpected item in the bagging area.

If it meant I could go back to the 80s when stuff was easy, uncomplicated and you knew who you were dealing with I’d pull out my parachute tracksuit tomorrow. I’d watch RAGE and Aggro’s cartoon collection with glee. I’d wait for The Herald Sun’s Corinella colouring competition and hope like hell I won five bucks. And I’d also celebrate the fact that it was completely legitimate when Halloween came to throw shit at the kids as a “trick” instead of just lamely giving them out yet another treat.

I’d honestly wear a hypercolour tshirt, sweat in it and even let strange men put their hands on my back to watch me change colors. I’d dance around the fitting rooms in Fossey’s in my collets (and I don’t mean Dinnigan) because such was the life of a fashionista sista back then. Honestly, I would swear the only thing that has truly stood the test of time are those four hardcore pizza eating freedom fighting Ninja turtles. Because y’know….Party dude!

At the risk of sounding like my (late) Poppy in his twilight years nothing is as good as it used to be. Even the flippin’ cricket is rigged. Of course, I never used to get what he was on about back then but times they are a changin’ and to be frank I don’t think we are advancing at all. At least not in terms of community, society and general happiness (she says tapping away on her tablet whispering words of wisdom from behind a screen into cyberspace.

Cars are so bloody advanced in technology you can drive off keyless and lock yourself and a minor in when you get out of range and the power cuts out. I’ll take a club locked 83 Ford laser anyday and I’ll even wear my “Now You See It” t-shirt for the occasion. Politicians and sportsmen and women are so media trained they barely have a personality. If artificial intelligence is so flippin’ ingenious build me a time machine and take me bloody back. When troll dolls and polly pockets were the rage…shit was so simple.

I want to go back to the underpopulated outskirts of Melbourne when t-shirt dresses were the rage, it was deemed safe to ride freely around the block as a six year old and you could steal your neighbour’s lavender and sell it back to them as perfume (just because you were bold and cute enough). And riding the clothesline and dancing naked under sprinklers were socially acceptable past times.

I want to wait for footy players autographs after the game and fight with my sisters on the train home. That glee of coming home to a clean house and one of Mums roasts in the oven. Once more we would sit and laugh at “It’s a knockout”, because we all know that’s the name of the game. Apparently today every second solopreneur on the goddamn internet boasts 7 figure annual incomes pedalling who knows what by social media.

Back in my day we only had the door knocking bible bashers to bitch about.

I’d cut three toes off each feet to go back to the 1980s when you could get away with swearing (even as a kid) by inserting curses into song lyrics. With Cher’s permission… IF FUCK COULD TURN BACK TIME. Send me there now… my only real request is don’t send me to girl guides to dance around a flippin’ toadstool in an oversized brown frock. Honestly, I’m well beyond that shit! But if means being born in a cabbage with a faux birth certificate and a signature on my ass- I’m still in. Because in the words of Kylie Mole,”It’s so excellent.”



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