Yes. Eighties. Please?
There have been many clever mock ups of Labour's new election poster. The one which they no doubt believed would be Dreadnought class. The nuclear option, capable of blasting a crater the size of Prescott's gut in Conservative support.
But less is more, so His Eminence has come up with the most succinct, and therefore my fave.
Indeed. Mrs P and I have, for the past few years, spent many a late hour over the Chenin Blanc wistfully discussing the future possibility of time travel, debating whether it would be best to transport ourselves back to the 70s or the 80s, and bemoaning the fact that it just ain't gonna happen.
So we're stuck here, like some poor passengers who put our trust in a ship's Captain only to be dumped unwillingly on a barren, joyless island, run by the Amish, and patrolled by a bullying troop of knuckle-dragging airheads parroting "it's more than my job's worth, guv".
Leggy has highlighted some truths about why the eighties were a golden age compared with now.
In the eighties, nobody was arrested, fined, tagged and curfewed for selling a goldfish to anyone.
In the eighties, you could sit in the park on a sunny day with one bottle of beer and nobody minded. Heck, you could sit there and drink until your eyes melted and as long as you did it without bothering anyone else, nobody minded.
In the eighties, you could sit in a pub and smoke and nobody minded.
In the eighties, nobody was fined for having a baked bean tin in the paper bin nor for putting out their bin ten seconds too early, half an inch too far from the kerb or with the lid not quite hermetically sealed.
In the eighties, parents were not fined when their children threw bread to ducks.
Yes, there are many many more examples, but I feel compelled to add some of my own.
In the eighties, charities were charities, not hectoring multi-million pound businesses.
In the eighties, you could say you were a Toyah fan and no-one replied "Who?".
In the eighties, you could drive down any road without having to leap-frog over a steeplechase of road humps.
In the eighties, a jacket but no socks was more than acceptable attire.
In the eighties, you could leave a 9 year old at home while you went to the shops ... and no-one called social services.
In the eighties, today's lefty attitudes were overwhelmingly classed as 'loony'.
In the eighties, kids watched TV for two hours a day max. They could watch more but generally didn't once the news came on.
In the eighties, there was Bezique.
In the eighties, you could take your kids into Downing Street on a day trip to London. You could even take a picture of number 10.
In the eighties, no-one knew who would occupy the top four places in football's top division till the season finished.
In the eighties, Bristow smoked and drank his way to five world darts titles.
In the eighties, Jim Davidson had a career, and was sometimes funny.
In the eighties, people had front gardens, not drives, as you could park on the road.
In the eighties, we fried bacon in oil.
In the eighties, we drank Black Tower ... and liked it.
In the eighties, you could enjoy a cigar after an expensive meal.
In the eighties, you'd see teachers in the pub and it was considered normal behaviour.
In the eighties, nurses always came across (just me?).
In the eighties, you didn't get in a nightclub without a suit.
In the eighties, you could afford the cab home.
Brass tacks? In the eighties, we had fun (with or without money), were free, and sucked the marrow out of life without interference.
And this is a bad thing, how?
Perhaps the poster is an ironic piece of reverse psychology from Labour, in that they know very well that Cameron has shown no sign whatsoever of returning us to such a life.
Maybe that's the point. A Brer Rabbit type dare, confident in the knowledge that the Tories have no intention, nor the wherewithal, to do any such thing. Labour don't intend to try either but are aware that there are those who harbour optimistic hopes which will be cruelly dashed post May 6th.
