Category Archives: age

Youth Don’t Leave Me


I may well have slipped onto the slide of middle-age and am currently flying past every marker Cliff-Richard_2225978bon route. This week’s marker was, at first glance, something only the young do: waiting for concert tickets to go on sale to ensure purchase. Then I realised I was over 40 and my chosen concert was to see an old heart-throb (yes I used that word) Mr Robbie Williams, who by the way has also passed the 40 mark. As a teen I humoured my mother and her love of Cliff Richard, thinking not so secretly that he was passed it and my mum slightly embarrassing in her love for him. I have become my mother. So has Robbie Williams become Cliff Richard? I imagine he thinks not. When weighing up the evidence I concluded that 25 – 30 years ago Sir Cliff was in his 40s, an ageing heart-throb who was and to some, still is, a superstar. Check – Robbie too. My Ma was over 40 and although never his number 1 fan did have a very soft spot for him. Check – I have loved Robbie since he first appeared in his underwear with his Take That buddies back in the early 90s. In conclusion, Middle Age.

RW poster_habI started calling the ticket line 2 minutes before the tickets went on sale. When I stopped calling 45 minutes later it was still engaged. Luckily, old I may be but clued up in the ways of t’internet I am also. The website not so much crashed as got stuck, sent me back instead of forward, made me register with them 3 times (3 different email addresses) but eventually I stumbled through the Hebrew and ascertained that I had indeed bought the 6 tickets I had intended to. Yes, I have a number of other ‘we’re not middle-aged, we’re too young’ girls (and one boy(straight!?)) coming with me. Ah, but did I buy 6 or have I inadvertently bought 12? Due to the incredibly annoying website I had to wait another 3 hours to get the email confirming my purchase and as it stands 24 hours later I am now the proud owner of 6 tickets.

This year has been quite a year for this old dear. I have been to see Justin Timberlake (what a professional) and Lady Gaga or is that GaGa. The latter concert we left early due to our inability to see the stage and therefore the distracting dancers that would have entertained where the music failed. Sorry Gaga fans, just not my thing, but it was free. I have also finally downloaded music onto an ipod that has been sat in its box since last April. I won’t embarrass myself by ‘fessing up to what is on my playlist. Oh. Dear. No.

I have mentioned previously that I am no muso. I leave that to my incredibly knowledgeable and infinitely cooler friends. Problem is, they too are getting on and so therefore they must also be dropping in the cool stakes. I can rule out riding on the coat tails of knowledge from teenage kids as mine are still one foot in nursery rhymes and the other in Gangham Style. The radio stations in Israel have 30 records and after 2 long car rides I have heard them all and no “(I’ll Never Be) Maria Magdalena” by Sandra (1985) does not count as cool, it never did.

I therefore must admit to myself that I am indeed middle-aged, my children will think me article-2512569-1999C82100000578-667_634x867ultimately uncool and Robbie, I still love you, grey, married, over 40 and with kids and damn it I will love you when you get your knighthood and we are both in our dotage. I hope that relative peace stays intact until May and the Israel haters don’t put you off. There are a lot of us not middle-aged-middle-aged fans waiting for you.


Last Night


I have a new best friend, in my dreams.  In my dream he is rich and famous, enormously (suprisingly) talented.  He lives in New Orleans (surely that should be Memphis) and he wants to be my best friend.  In my dream he is Justin Timberlake.  Oh woe is me.  I have a teenage crush at 41.  Last night I joined an assorted crowd of JT fans in a park in Tel Aviv to see my new best friend in concert.  At the end of the concert I was shocked by the talent and professionalism.  I had enjoyed bobbing up and down to the music, I even raised my hands above my head at certain moments.  He can sing, play guitar, play piano, dance and lets face it he is easy on the eye.  He wasn’t however my new best friend.

Then I went home to sleep.

By 7am he was my best friend.  I was enjoying myself so much, hanging out in a cafe with him, introducing him to my family, being introduced to his friends that I asked my 3 year old to let me sleep a little more rather than admire the art work she had done for me and wanted to be stuck on the wall,  This surely is a mid life crisis.  I am already looking forward to going to sleep tonight so I can hang out with him again.

In very recent years the major acts are starting to add Tel Aviv to the concert circuit.  Slowly, slowly they are returning after the 2000 intifada and the fear of being accused of political/religious bias kept them away.  Now the instagrams of stars at the Western Wall, Dome of the Rock or floating in the Dead Sea are appearing on a weekly basis. Rihanna liked the Dead Sea so much she was still floating in it when she should have been on stage.


My first job in Israel back in 2005 was for a music promoter.  I was in charge of looking after the ‘stars’ from the moment they landed their private jets until we breathed a sigh of relief when they climbed back on.  It was still too soon for the really big names to come so unfortunately I didn’t meet the Madonnas and Elton Johns of the world.  My first band was Faithless who were actually very nice.  Their lead singer was a little demanding but by the time they left I was quite a fan.  The other bands were famous but I had to look them up before they arrived (I ain’t no music officinado).  Some were more demanding than others, ‘I want the tent dressing room to be swathed in white silk and filled with white lilies’ – the “star” in question was one of many acts at a festival, had a 3 song set and was in the ‘dressing room’ for precisely half an hour.  When she left I picked up the lilies which had been thrown on the floor and trodden on.

These backstage riders are actually negotiated before the arrival of the acts.  The promoter and the manager thrash out whether the stars will get French champagne cooled to a certain temperature or not.  In true Israeli fashion we agreed to everything and then provided a version of the requests.

My personal favourite moment was when Phil Collins arrived.  We had a police escort to the

hotel from the airport (why?) which was very exciting.  We weren’t allowed to address ‘Mr Collins’ directly and there were to be no tip offs to the press and no unauthorised photographs.  When the cavalcade arrived at the hotel the entrance was packed with the paparazzi (I was confidently assured that they had been tipped off to boost ticket sales).  The hotel manager came to greet Mr. Collins and the hotel photographer was summoned to take the official hand shake photo.  Collin’s manager was turning puce. The piece de resistance was the cake the hotel had prepared and presented to Mr Collins so he could cut it – again, why?  The cake was decorated with a life size sugar paper photocopy of Phil Collins’ face which he then proceed to stick a large knife into.  Classy.  Collin’s manager then demanded that the whole band, techies, entourage, et al be moved to another hotel.

So back to my bezzie mate.  I have tried to online stalk him just so I know where he stayed and I have wondered what was on his rider.  As I know him so well I think he would just ask for water – he’s no diva.  The one surprise is the fact that my crush is purely platonic.  That’s what age does to you.  I wasn’t the oldest at the concert I am happy to report but my friend’s 9 year old shattered my idea that I was doing something vaguely young and cool by asking,’who is Justin Timberlake?’.  Even Justin is too old for da kids.  Back to dreaming then.




December 14th, 2013

“Would you like the same present for your birthday that I got you last year?”,

“what was it? pyjamas? yes I like new pyjamas”,

“no, sellotape*”

(*that’s scotch tape to my American friends)

And with that it all came rushing back, the trauma and turmoil of this time last year when I turned 40.  I actually thought that the set of coloured biros and coloured sellotape was a sweet, albeit interesting choice of present but as No. 1 son had obviously chosen them himself I was all the more appreciative.  It was a small highlight in an otherwise dark day.  I didn’t like turning 40.  Having started writing my mutterings on the run up to my new decade I had thought I had it well under control. Looking back I now see it was a huge rite of passage  and only now, as I turn 41 do I think I am really OK with being ‘old’.

This time last year I was stricken with  a throat infection and determined not to miss out on the surprise gathering my husband had planned for that evening (yes, sorry I did know) I stuffed myself full of every over-the-counter remedy possible, plus a healthy dose of my 2-year-old’s antibiotics.  Yes, that was a secret too, which one year on I am not ashamed (well only partially) to admit.  I figured that if antibiotics started working in 24 hours then 1 dose the night before and 1 the next morning should do the trick.  I hadn’t counted on the enormous amount of sugar in an adult size dose of children’s antibiotics.  My kidneys ached for days and I worried silently of the permanent damage.  That’s how desperate I was to celebrate my big 4-0, I know, I know, sad and shameful. I also drank a lot of water – I mean a lot for weeks afterwards.  Rather goes to show that with age does not come sense.

The good news is I made it out that evening and my drama training stood me well as I don’t think anyone suspected I knew what was in store (least of all my darling husband who was v proud of himself).  By that time, slightly high on medication and a couple of glasses of cava I had a lovely time.  Not so much the next day.  Then the hangover and realisation that I could no longer consider myself ‘young’ really kicked in.  Goodness knows how I’ll be at 50.

I spent yesterday thinking about the ‘must do’ list I created pre-40 and thought about what I had achieved in my 41st year.  I have finally taken up exercise and have surprised myself by enjoying it.  It has meant I have gained weight which I am reassured is muscle but I’m not so sure.  I have worn shoes with heels much more than I did.  I have tried to be less sensitive about other’s opinions (still trying) and I have gone from 1/4 time job plus full time parenting to 3 jobs and only partial full time parenting (hooray for kindergarten).

December 15th, 2013

So what about today I hear you ask, how is the birthday so far.  Well, I have had 2 cards and one happy birthday.  I am not sick, not stressed about my age – 41 somehow sounds younger than 40 – go figure. I have not taken any medication, mine or the children’s and I am 100% sure that no surprise gathering is being planned. I am in fact quite calm. No doubt I shall be receiving colourful sellotape, or some other comedy present from the childers this afternoon (it’s actually very useful), I am presuming cake and candles will make an appearance and I am happy to report that I am in a far better place on December 15th 2013 than I was on the same date in 2012.

Happy birthday to me.

Run with the dogs tonight


By the time you reach the grand old age of 40, have children, a family car and some kind of pet you will probably also find yourself living in suburbia.

No, you initially won’t want to, you prefer the bright lights of the city or the simple living of the remote countryside but there’s a good chance that your work, the schools, the kid’s friends, your extended family are all there, in suburbia.

So kicking and screaming or just with a sigh of resignation that’s where you will find yourself.  You will actually quite like it.  It’s easy.  Everyone is like you, or at least in your time of life, in your situation, in suburbia.

The parks are handy, there’s a local leisure centre to start the kids on their way to Olympic success, the after school activities and neighbours willing to take in your kids and keep an eye out for them makes you feel safe.

In suburbia there are teenagers, toddlers and tweens, lots of babies, a few old folk and some young marrieds, if you are single you are probably divorced or in the process, anyway you have kids so silly to move back to a city. Better to be in suburbia.

If you’re lucky during a holiday you may spot some 20 somethings but they make you feel old.  When they aren’t around you can pretend you are still young, fashionable, slim, not living in suburbia.

You may occasionally venture into the city but usually during the day, rarely at night when you will have to be back by midnight, driving. When you do go to the city at night you are shocked by the diverse mix of humanity that you haven’t seen for so long now you live in suburbia.

But it’s quite good to be home at midnight, sober.  You don’t need to look for an hour for parking, no-one’s been sick on your doorstep, there is quiet, a distant cry of a baby, perhaps a toot of an owl.  Your family is safely tucked up in bed and you will realise that at this point in life you don’t really mind living there, in suburbia.

Homeward Bound


Youth is a state of mind.  I know you know that but it’s taken me a while to see it.  It doesn’t matter how you look (although it helps), it doesn’t matter if you are married, single, divorced, have kids, not have kids.  Its all in your head, or maybe just mine.

You may not want to be 16 or 26 again but wouldn’t it be nice to have that feeling of youth?  That ‘I want to dance and even if I look stupid it doesn’t matter’ feeling.  Maybe you have it.  I categorically don’t.  Recently I was at a gig – I even feel old saying that word.  It was a small affair in a small venue and the age group was predominantly under 30.  I spotted a number of ‘I am young and I don’t care’ outfits; the patchwork flowery waistcoat (on a male) gave it away, the smell coming from some energetic dancers was also a telling sign, the fact that they were dancing at all was evidence enough;  I shuffle, if I’m pushed (literally) or sense I look more conspicuous if I keep still.

I am trying to pinpoint the time when I lost the ability to  throw shapes on a dance floor just for the madonnasheer enjoyment of it.  Once in an outdoor nightclub in Turkey I remember dancing to Beyonce with a feeling of utter joy – I was certainly crazy right then – I didn’t give a hoot who saw me or how terrible my dancing was.  I was young, I was on holiday and I simply didn’t care.  I wonder if that’s how Madonna feels all the time.  What other reason could she have for flashing her bits on stage or wearing high cut leotards at 54?  oh yes she’s Madonna.

The question therefore has to be how do I get it back – not that I am planning on wearing a leotard any time soon.  I know people older than me who act and feel young.  I know younger people than me who act and feel old.   Perhaps the responsibility that comes with age is the reason and waistcoat wearing stinky dancers at gigs just haven’t got to the stage of  responsibility yet.  

ozricI will soon be away from my usual responsibilities of life, alone in my old home town with old friends.  Will I catch a glimpse of the young me and be able to harness it and bring it back to real life? We’ll see.  Lets hope I don’t stop washing and buy some suspect Ozric Tentacles waistcoat in Camden Market whilst I am away in a flush of re(un)discovered youth.

This will be the first time in 5 years I have been back and I am getting nervous – can you tell?  I’m not sure why, apart from the obvious fear of not knowing my way around the tube or getting lost in Soho.  Possibly the real fear is that everything will have changed and I am subconsciously expecting it all to feel the same.  The UK is not the country it was 8 years ago when I left, nor is London the same city I knew and loved.  However some of the people I love are there and changed or not I can’t wait to see them.  I may feel older but I am also wiser and some reminiscing over a glass of wine (no pints of Stella for me these days) could well be just the ticket to rediscovering the feeling of youth.  London here I come.



Here’s Looking at You, Ma


mateus-roseLast week I saw some long lost photos of my family circa 1978. We are not a photo family; my parents’ house has only started resembling a family art gallery since the arrival of the grandchildren; when we were growing up the walls, sideboards, and mantelpiece were photo free. As a result these photos were long consigned to a box in the loft and only get an airing every decade or so.

One of the photos is a picture of my parents with my brother and myself at around the same age as my kids are now (my sister came much later), so of course I made the obvious leap to compare my life with theirs. The parentals look good; young, fresh faced. The fashions are atrocious and yet somehow current (apart from my brother’s patterned shirt and tie combo) but what drew me to the photo was the image of my Mum;  the woman she was in the picture, not that much younger than I am now. I don’t remember the woman in the photo I was too young, I remember her as she was a few years later, she looked very different – with the 80s came the perm – and she was older and had another child and life had moved on.

I’d like to have known my Mum as she was then, stocking up on superfluous orange and lime tupperware_1green storage containers at the Tupperware party, checking out the neighbour’s house as a member of the babysitting circle, having a chinwag over a glass of Mateus Rose. I wonder if we would have liked each other? I’d love to hear what she said about her 2 small children and to hear her gossip about her husband – actually maybe not the last bit. Like all grandmothers she now says we were model children; we ate what was put in front of us, we slept through the night from 6 months etc etc She professes to not remember us giving her any trouble at all. The memory can do amazing things over time right?! More likely we were also snotty nosed, non-sleeping, fussy, noisy, fear inducing toddlers; most toddlers are, albeit to different degrees.

My children at 40 won’t remember me exactly as I am now, possibly a good thing – sleep deprived and battle weary. They will remember the Mum of their teenage years and the old Mum they will know as adults. 
It would be wise not to forget the people we were when we were young and u-hum carefree, (although I am not sure I was ever carefree, it’s just not in my nature), whether you have children or not. Youth is indeed wasted on the young and as Mr Robbie Williams quite rightly pointed out ‘before you know it, it’s been and gone too soon’.
So in lieu of finding the car from Back to the Future and meeting my Ma from the photo, on today’s to do is to up the Skype activity with the parentals, book a trip back to the UK and recapture some of the pre-children Katie for my childers to meet, I think they might like her.

and Counting


40th birthday

Ha ha, had you fooled. Did you think the ruminations would stop post 39? Unlucky (or lucky) for you, the ‘and counting’ might have given it away.  The best part is that I will remain 39 (and counting) in the worldwide web forever.

Thank you, yes I made it and I am still here – making it through 12.12.12 and passing 40 unscathed made for a hectic week.  Quick checklist of the goals I foolishly set myself  last July when I started putting words on the page, lets see:

  1. Realising the dream.  You have to know what the dream is to realize it. 2 out of 10 for effort – I have thought about it.
  2. The novel .  Hmmm well I do write a lot, not that it’s in any structure, nor does it resemble a novel but it’s a start.
  3. Anti-ageing.  I am still waiting for Darphin to send me an enormous selection of free products on the back of the highly flattering words in my post.  My face therefore is still getting older by the day (more so since 15th December) and I think I may be waiting another 40 years before hearing from them.
  4. The Fear. What can I say, I haven’t managed to change ANY of my habits; good, bad and indifferent and therefore The Fear is still at large. Perhaps pre-50?
  5. Exercise. Cough hmmm
  6. Food and Drink.  Yes please.
  7. Celebrations.  The only thing I can 100% say I have achieved and will achieve  (thanks to hubby) when my London trip takes place in January.  Marvelous
  8. Gift list.  No tooth fairy or dental benefactor has shown up as yet with a fat cheque so I will continue into this next decade one tooth down and hope that people continue not to notice (or so they say).  Kindle – check (thanks girls), replacement trinkets/watch – on the way, child free night – check.  What a lucky girl.
  9. Technology.  Not that I have taken it off the shelf yet but I am now in possession of an iphone.  When I work out to use it I will update.  I have been educated by a number of people following the technophobe post and would like to point out that it is not age that makes me useless with technology, the blame lies firmly at the feet of myself at any age.  Thank you for everyone’s knowledge sharing – if I was more interested I would probably remember the advice.
  10. High heels are my new best friend.  OK so they are not high, but they aren’t flat so definitely A for effort of this front.

Happy birthday fellow Saggitarians and fellow new 40 somethings.  Let the games begin.

Boys to Men


An older man is distinguished, he greys with salt and pepper flecks.  He can carry off style without the fear of being called mutton, but he goes bald.  Unlucky.  There’s no disguising age when your once thick barnet is reduced to a bush at the back and sides and some wisps on the top.  Men do of course have the option of shaving it all off at the first signs of loss, luckily the ‘fashion’ of bygone decades of the comb over is long gone (Was that really a fashion or just blatant denial?).  What though if you have a funny shaped head?

I have a friend who as far as I can recall has never had anything but a shiny pate.  Another friend was looking forward to going grey, he always had a penchant for older men, the greyer the better, and although he was always pretty distinguished – how many students do you know wore silk house coats (aka dressing gown) and warmed their 2.99 merlot on the radiator? – he is now uber gentlemanly with his greying locks.

Other age giveaways for men? Well; ear hair, nose hair, mutant eyebrows (hair growth everywhere but the head) and the male equivalent of the muffin top; the beer belly, which appears with or without drinking beer. In my limited experience I have seen that men tend to a) care less than women and b) take up sports with more gusto than women which combats the belly issues although can’t help with the random hair growth.

In our age of male grooming and Mr. Metrosexual, men are more likely to own some kind of beauty product and doubtless many wives have had the tweezers out on their other halves to keep them well presented.  A facial balm or a body scrub was probably unknown vocabulary to our fathers’, not so to our male peers.  I do have to add a small disclaimer at this point as my husband wouldn’t know a balm if it smeared itself on his nose (perhaps not a bad idea).

Here in Israel the men are especially well kept. Due to the climate and the outdoor lifestyle, a Mediterranean diet and yearly army service until at least 40, a good proportion keep themselves trim (another disclaimer?  No, I won’t involve specific people).  Also people don’t really drink here.  Yes I know it’s crazy but you’d be hard pushed to find an Israeli fella who looks forward to a few pints down the pub a couple of times a week.  No offense to my fellow countrymen but the cold climate, bangers and mash and Stella Artois need more sessions down the gym and no weekly beach visit means less need to worry about stripping off in front of strangers for the Brits.  Now before you all start I know there are many exceptions but I have been to the swimming baths in the UK and I know what I have seen (it still haunts me).

Someone recently told me that men lose themselves between the age of 40 and 55 and if you’re a single lady of a certain age you should grab them before or after this period if you want true fulfillment.  When I asked for some clarity she said that the whole ageing, career, keeping up with the Brad Pitts is just too all-consuming for multi-task shy fellas and so trying to start a relationship with them is just destined to fail.  This sounds like it’s one of my sweeping generalizations, but maybe she has a point.  Most of the men I know of this age are married or gay so I have no evidence to prove or disprove her theory.  I do know that career is paramount and providing for your family or maintaining a certain standard of living is key to many of my male peers.

I had a look to see which men are fellow 2012 40 year olds and lo and behold, my fave Hollywood male celeb Ben Affleck plus dishy Josh Duhamel, Chris Tucker and Eminem have had big birthdays this year as will Jude Law (speaking of going bald) just 2 short weeks after me.  It’s hard to equate these men with us mere mortals, they have the time and the money to age sophisticatedly just like the women from this vintage.  For some reason I was surprised, I really considered these men to be younger than me – especially Eminem, let’s face it he will always be 27.

So what’s the answer for men of my generation, well first and foremost it helps if you’re gay.  Without exception every gay man I know who is 40 or over is very well turned out.  Second, if you’re married; listen to your wife she really does know best, really, and third buy a nose trimmer, every little helps.

I borrowed this from because it made me laugh out loud

Borrowed from because it made me chuckle for a very long time

Reasons to Celebrate #6: Kids


london busLike the number 19 bus our children arrived all at once, none for ages and then 3 arrived within 2 short years.  Four and a half years on, this in essence means,

  1. I cannot speak on the phone during their waking hours
  2. I seldom have waking hours outside of theirs
  3. I am always the mother being tutted at/sympathised with on the park
  4. I have single handedly filled a land fill with nappies
  5. My house has a faint whiff of pee (or maybe that’s just my imagination)

2 year old twins are the stuff of parenting challenges.  As one is safely ensconced in a pram/car seat another escapes, as one stops shouting for Mummy, water, food, toilet the other starts.  It’s a non-stop attention shop in my house.  Now that the twins can also speak, the noise in the house can reach dangerous levels, add to that the fact they so far speak a different language to mine makes it a challenge with a twist.  It’s one thing understanding the noise in English, quite another when its coming at you in a mix of English, Hebrew and baby talk – ‘what are you saying?’

There are a few key words necessary to know when entering my domain if you are not a Hebrew speaker.

  1. Mime – (water) sounds like mine so at any point they could be referring to either water or a belonging of theirs
  2. Cacky – (poo) not to be mistaken with cracker (cacka) one of the twins’ favourite food stuffs.  Cacky comes with a smell or a squatting toddler
  3. Od – (more) often said 15 times over at a gradually louder level
  4. Zay oo – (finished/enough) usually heard on the park when the swing/slide is scarily high or when a plate is sent skimming across the table to the floor.
  5. Die – (stop) don’t think too literally on this one, ‘Mummy, die!’ ‘die die die’ can be heard repeatedly from all 3 kids directed at a parent or each other.

My children came arguably late on in life, the first at 35 and I have wondered on occasion if this extreme parenting would have been easier had I been 25.  Do 29 year olds get as tired as 39 year olds after a day with the childers? As I remember it, I was having a blast at 29 and was far from ready for the responsibility of children so I don’t regret the timing, just wish my physical make up in my mid to late 20s could have stuck around until after the teething, the diving to catch one heading into danger and the pushing of a pram carrying 42 kilos was over.

My kids make me see things through fresh eyes, ‘Mummy you do nothing at home’ said the 4 year old when we were discussing what people did for jobs the other day.  They are also a constant reminder of my shortcomings, ‘how does a satellite stay in the sky?’, and a catalyst for self-improvement, ’build us a house out of these boxes, we need to recycle’.  They introduce me to the otherwise unknown or forgotten world of Balamory, snail farms and fairy princesses and for all those reasons and more, they are my most important reason to celebrate as they are the greatest achievement in my 40 years.  To top it all I also get to be carried along by their excitement which is sure to surpass my own on my big day.

Press ? for help


“Anything invented before your fifteenth birthday is the order of nature. That’s how it should be. Anything invented between your 15th and 35th birthday is new and exciting, and you might get a career there. Anything invented after that day, however, is against nature and should be prohibited.” Douglas Adams (author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy)

code scanLast night my 4-year-old taught me what to do with those bar code looking picture things on adverts.  See, I don’t even know what they are called and seeing as my phone doesn’t have a camera or even predictive text for that matter, I am not sure I will be reaping the benefits of this advertising tool in the near future.

I am the last of the technophobes, I don’t own an i anything, no pod, no pad, no phone. I’m not sure I could work them if I did own them – oh yeah I could ask one of my 2 year olds to teach me.  They already try to change screens on the laptop by touching the screen; very annoying and more importantly how on earth do they know touch screen technology?  Not from our luddite house, that’s for sure.

Remember when you watched with wonder sci-fi on the tv as a kid?

Wow wouldn’t it be amazing if we could see the person we were talking to on the phone?  Wow.

Imagine if we could walk around and talk to someone on the phone without being attached to a cable. Wow

Imagine if we could talk into a watch? hmmm

Imagine if we could be transported to a different place?


OK so maybe the last one isn’t possible (yet) but wouldn’t it be cool if it was?  I could nip home to visit whenever I felt like it.  Bye bye budget travel, not nice knowing you.

Thinking about all these new gadgets and how they literally used to be the stuff of science fiction brought to mind that old BBC classic, Blake’s 7.   In short it was a low-budget sci-fi drama whose main characters were Blake, Avon, Jenna, Vila, Cally, Gan and Zen the computer. Hmmm, yes, says it all really. I wanted to be Cally (?) Cally I also used to colour my soda stream lemonade with food dye as their blue and green drinks looked exotic. I remember it seeming terribly hi-tech at the time – take a look now, not so much 

With only two weeks to go until B day, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I have to add become more techno savvy to my list of things to do before 40.  The fact you are reading this is in itself a miracle (of course it could be just myself I am amusing).

Actually, is there anybody out there?