Naughty in the 90s? I just wish I'd had the time
I half wish I could label them the Naughty 90s except that I didn't have time. To be naughty that is, not to label.
Those who partied through the Naughty 1890s seemingly had a ripping time which saw them into another century and through to the Roaring 20s.
Who dreams up these names anyway? Do they look back over a decade and think 'golly that was naughty/roaring' or whatever? Or is it all a bit of wishful thinking?
I'm rambling a bit here because if you can reflect 20 years back, during which you changed from teenage school pupil with angst to a very grown up, professional person, for instance, there is real change to talk about.
If you are at the other end of the age spectrum, the same number of years might not have seen very much change at all. Except you got even older.
But let's not dwell on that, rather let's clutch at a straw or two. Like, um, well, say for instance ... ah! Actually, my hair style is different. And that's the only thing I could think of? How pathetic.
Actually, the 90s for me did begin with a real change in circumstance by moving to a 200-year-old house in the woodland setting of a World Heritage site. Magical. And expensive. Both adjectives which still apply.
The roof, electrics and subsidence work to prevent the said dwelling from falling into the gorge seemed minor against the novelty of it all. So we got the builders on the roof and cleared off to California for a few weeks.
The other big move was between our two newspapers again, this time back to Express & Star from Shropshire for eight good years – I remember wondering then whether I might be too old for another big challenge.
That was several big challenges ago. Biggest story of the decade for me? I guess it had to be reporting from Johannesburg on the first South African free elections in 1994 as Nelson Mandela walked into history.
Wow! Oh go on then, that's a handy word which will do for the rest of the decade as well.
