I love the Eighties. Really. I do. What other decade could have produced such greats as Boston, Chicago, ( band names reached their creative peak during these illustrious times), Meat Loaf and Foreigner. How I mock those who admit their love of such shocking music, being screeched or crooned by a mullet sporting, rail thin, drainpipe jeans attired youth with the face of a two year old and the legs of an elastic band. How I have been forced to hang my head in shame as I have made these blasts from the past my jogging buddies. There is nothing quite like the crescendo of "More than a feeling" followed by
"I'd lie for you" with the rising tones of "Toto" to get me going at a pace not shy of a steady trot. Of course I also like to join in with the power choruses, so it is taking everything in me to not let out a few chords or indulge in some air drums.

Also the oldies who hurl themselves around the lake area each night are starting to recognise me so I am getting lots of cheery waves and "Hello!"s from those aged 60 and over who can still run past me. I think I might join them for tea and gossip mongering by the lakeside when the weather gets a little better. Should they prove themselves to be unhip and not with it, then I'll get just get accquainted with the team of guys who practice their breakdancing in a park near the lake. One of them is going to be spending some time in spine rehab at the rate they are going. They aren't very talented, yet think they are, so attempt all sorts of head for feet
poses that will result in neck braces for all.