You know you’re getting old when you sit around the dining table regaling children with stories about what it was like when I was young.
That’s what I found myself doing at a friend’s house last night.
We told them about how there were no ATMs, so you had to make sure you got enough money from the bank on a Friday for the weekend or you were screwed.
And that all the shops closed at midday on Saturday, so if you didn’t get everything you needed for the weekend by then you were also screwed.
That’s why everyone had KFC or fish and chips on Saturday night because they couldn’t go to the supermarket for food.
And there were no mobile phones, so you had to arrange to meet someone at a certain place at a certain time. You couldn’t call them to say you were running late, you just had to BE there when you said you would.
When there WERE mobile phones they were so big you needed a suitcase to lug them around.
And then someone invented fax machines, weren’t they an amazing thing!?
And how computers had just arrived in the newsrooms when I became a journalist.
And remember that noise your computer made when it dialed up to the internet?
And on we went. The kids nodded and smiled politely and I had the secret realisation that I sound like my grandmother!
But wow a lot has changed in my almost-50 years on this earth. It just keeps accelerating, too.
How was I born in the 1960s, before colour TV and computers and the internet and mobile phones? How?
I thought I was so modern in the ’80s with my puffy sleeves and spiral perm and teeth glowing in the ultra violet light at the disco.
Here I am in 2016 trying to understand why the hell anyone wants to watch egocentric videos of strangers on Snapchat and despairing at the predictions that the written word will soon be completely replaced on social media by visual content.
I love the written word.
Poor old me.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been added to a secret Facebook group where everyone is sharing black and white photos of my early days as a journalist.
Black and white!
Here’s me down a mine shaft …
What’s your favourite “when I was young?” memory you horrify your children with?
Song on the day: Barbra Streisand “The Way We Were”