Life has been cancelled for the week while we gaze in wonder at the white stuff that has fallen from the sky. We are not good at snow in Ireland. It astonishes us. We're in a perpetual state of: Jaysus! Snow, is it? It is, be the living hokey, it's SNOW, so it is. (Pause. Repeat.)
There's no other news. Our adoption meeting was cancelled.
I do have something to while away the time, however. I found some relics from 1981 in my mother's old knitting basket:
[Expensive-look, expensive-feel! Why didn't that expression catch on?]
The eighties! A more innocent time, you might think. When we (or at least I. I am really quite old) amused ourselves with roller discos, vinyl records, wore pour-in jeans and had to make appointments to see one another, mobile phones being far in the future. As was lycra. And tabbed browsers. In fact, at the time, a browser was someone in a book shop with time to kill.
Mohair was huge. I mean that literally.
This young man would have been referred to as a "hunk", a word that makes me want to resign from the human race. Note the glowing visage. He is melting from being enveloped in this nuclear-powered neon garment.
Food was co-ordinated brown and beige:
Mmm! Grapefruit and Crab cocktail! Smoked Mussell and Leek Soup in a fish-shaped soup tureen!
Magazine copy displayed brilliant, sabre-like wit. Not to mention the cutting-edge page layout:
Kipper pasties! Tuna in (in?) pasta shells!
Quick, invent a time-machine - I'm going back.
The brown and beige food was ingested in obsessively patterned, migraine-inducing rooms like this.
It's a mystery, really, how we grew up at all. We used to play with mercury out of a thermometer, for instance. (This is before ideas like Health and Safety or Adult Supervision were invented.) Between that, and the headbanging, we are walking miracles.
Modern times, eh. Not so bad, maybe. What do you reckon?