It’s been a bad few years for the kids of the 70s. First Jimmy Savile poisoned our collective nostalgia for 80s light entertainment, now Ian Watkins has made wearing eyeliner and still going to gigs seem like a highly revolting activity for anyone in their thirties. The Lost Prophets scandal is sickeningly comprehensible. The boundary killing porn and drugs. The eager to please groupies – what stronger bond could a fan and her idol have than to both be doing something illegal and evil?
Perhaps we needed to grow-up. The avalanche of clip shows could be stemmed, unseemly drunken antics in provincial town centres could be reduced. Oldsters should stop trying to keep up with the selfies and the onesies, should stop hoping to reincarnate The Beatles through talent competitions, should put aside Bagpuss, should find something cheap, sustainable, moral, realistic, and interesting enough for the middle-aged to take up (golf? bridge? flower arranging?). We set a terrible example to the youths, mainly because we haven’t realised we’re no longer one of their number.
It’s time to move on. *
(*that means you Noel Fielding and Russell Brand!).