4 Years & 3 Days into Daddyhood

1970s/80s-style cars – like my dad’s Ford Escort and Vauxhall Cavalier.

Small but bulky TVs, with only four channels, and programmes you looked forward to watching at the same time each week.

Only seeing “proper” films on telly at Christmastime.

VHS.

Flimsy, destructable library cards.

My Amstrad word processor and the stories and other nonsense I wrote thereupon.

My Acorn Electron.

Saturday tea-time burgers and rubbish-but-eminently-entertaining-gameshows.

Cycling for hours around the streets of Liden.

Playing on my friend Patrick’s ZX Spectrum.

Saturday Dungeons & Dragons club.

Frankie Goes to Hollywood and the long and controversial 12-inch remixes pertaining thereto.

The thrilling newness of the early 1990 s indie scene.

My dad’s tape recorder.

Scoffing immense amounts of chocolate at Easter without feeling sick (well not too sick).

Proper snow (and not worrying about the impracticalities thereof).

Proper sun (although it did give me a headache).

Being able to speak, write and read French better.

Being fluent in quadratic equations.

Being mystified by Paul Daniels (and other TV magicians).

Really getting into the strange, magical, witty, hi-tech thrillingness of James Bond.

Traditional Cheese flavour Real McCoys.

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