Little Editorial – “Never Mind The Quantity Feel The Wit.”
Flares, tank tops, floral shirts with collars so wide it took two nine-year-old boys to hold them while a third stitched them on; ‘wedgie’ shoes with heels built higher than crumbling concrete tower blocks; kipper ties and brown corduroy jackets with leather elbow patches. Yes, the contents of my search results on eBay make pitiful reading, but when you’re hot, you’re hot and I think I can carry them off.
Coincidentally, if we add to that list disco music, heavy, hermaphrodite hairstyles and an unquestioning faith in children’s television presenters, our reader could glean the theme of this, the newest issue of your Bazooka-Gum-chewing, glitter-wearing, Reliant-Robin-driving, moustachioed magazine, The Inconsequential.
Yes, the seventies were a decade many of our readers will have missed, either through non-existence or detoxing from the sixties. I was too young prior to 1970 to partake of hallucinogenic substances, but my existence from that year on can be confirmed through dental records, so sadly, from an age-revealing perspective, I have to admit I was there.
Like snippets from a half-suppressed nightmare, the media feed us random images of unsavoury events from those ten years whenever their need requires it. However, in truth, I remember that time as a wholly innocent romp through my teenage years, sheltered as I was from the worst excesses of life by my over-anxious, but ever-loving mother (my father didn’t engage with me a great deal, so I can’t say for certain if he was anxious, but I am fairly sure he was loving, as he never said anything to the contrary). Of course, there were very many instances of trouble, discontent and plain nastiness, but nothing so bad that we required the services of the local compensation specialists. Underpinning life in that decade was still an all-pervading sense of honesty and fair-play. Indeed, it was from this mindset that certain of those aforementioned images arose. Blackouts and the three-day week, refuse sacks piling up in the streets and the dead remaining unburied are provocative events. They were the direct result of industrial action organised by unions when they still had the power to stand up to employers and demand fairer pay and conditions for their members – demands borne of unfairness. Perhaps the unions’ methods were a little extreme for some in those days, but a union that’s prepared to negotiate purely from the point of view of those who support it is preferable, surely, to, for example, a staff association that merely relays the employer’s immutable intentions.
Having barely swabbed the surface of the seventies prior to scratching it, the close proximity of a bitingly satirical cartoon tells me it’s time for us to move on. Time and space may be inconsequential to the Doctor (a mere seven years old in 1970), but to the Editor of THE Inconsequential, they are a deal more significant. In wrapping up this time-shifting editorial, then, let me point out some milestones on the road to the back page. For those wanting a more in depth analysis of our chosen decade, the Cover Story has it all, Those Ethics Girls are mired in the past, and Poo Corner captures the human condition as poignantly as ever. Also, there are no fewer than six, no – SIX, contributions from Friends of The Inconsequential, all waiting patiently to ambush you along the way.
Until we capture your hearts again, chill out to the vibe and stay true to the groove…