News this afternoon that there is to be a Tizwaz reunion has prompted a wave of bourgeoise reminiscence to sweep the country.
The Phantom Flan Flinger and Spit the Dog - the whole lot - are coming back to look back to that time, long, long ago, when the world was a seventies sepia version of life without mobile phones.
Such a simple time.
In 1976, the year Tizwaz went national, I remember ordering the military to use force to break up demonstrations in Tiananmen Square; earthquakes in the Northern Provinces killed hundreds of thousands; the Chairman passed away while myself and three colleagues were mistakenly arrested by armed guards for merely acting on his orders. Unfortunately we never got out.
Just think, while you were sitting in front of the telly in your jammies on Saturday morning marvelling at Sally James's I was orchestrating the final touches to our programme of lifelong resettlement where we transferred some 12 million young people, who had taken part in the cultural revolution, out of the cities and 'Up To The Mountains And Down To The Villages' to be re-educated by the rural poor.
There still there to this day for all I know.
How has your life been?
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