Hopscotch, The Lone Ranger and Hedge-row Porn

Hopscotch, The Lone Ranger and Hedge-row Porn

Today, I was reminiscing about the good old days. The days of hot, sunny summer’s and cold, snowy winter’s. Green fields, swing parks, and clean air.
The days when, if an adult caught you doing something wrong, they could swat you across the back of the head with impunity.
Even the local bobby on the beat (Ginger was the name of our area’s policeman) could call you a little sod and hoof you up the arse, to send you on your way. It was accepted and fun.
Streets full of children actually playing, not trying to kill each-other. Games such as:

Kick the can
Splitsy’s
Hopscotch
Bulldog

To name, but a few.
Shouts of “who wants to play armies? No girls aloud.”
Shouts of “who wants to play kiss chase?” (definitely girls aloud). (obviously, homosexuality didn’t exist in the 70’s. Perish the thought). Bigotry was rife, and something to be proud of. All of the “ism’s” were worn like a badge of honour.
Bikes pulling wheelies were commonplace, as were home-made trolleys made from planks of wood and old pram wheels.
I can’t think of a day where my life wasn’t fraught with danger. It was fun danger, brought on by myself and my friends, not anybody else.

The Lone Ranger on the telly. Bagpuss (lazy bastard), Lassie, Champion The Wonder Horse, (one of my favourites) Rent-a-ghost, (for some reason, nobody remembers Pipkins). Granddad glued to the horse racing in the afternoon, whilst Nan was glued to the oven, baking cakes.

And , of course, who could forget the hedge-row porn. Abundant and free. There wasn’t a field, forest, dump site, camp site, work site, derelict house or even abandoned church hall, that wasn’t festooned in gentleman’s interest magazines.
The only sexual deviant that you’d find lurking in the woods, was the one that had just jettisoned his latest dirty mag (along with his fluids) behind the nearest bush.

Bring back the good old days, I say. And all its twisted innocence.
Hoorah!