FOR some unaccountable reason, this week in the office, I found myself descending into a distracted reverie, humming the theme tune to long-forgotten children's TV series The Double Deckers.
I think it was something to do with a bus-related story someone was writing. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the Night Nurse.
"Get on board, get on board with the Double Deckers. Take a ticket for a journey on a London Double Decker Bus" I mut
tered tunelessly under my breath.
There were blank looks all round. Apart from an elderly colleague, who chuckled with recognition. It was a point of reference which had long since lost its currency. In fact, only people of a select age group five years either side of mine would know what I was on about. The adventures of Tiger, Scoop, Brains and Donut have become wedged in our collective memory alongside the Banana Splits, Marine Boy and Snow White Horses.
But while latter generations neither know or care about our TV faves or Golden Nuggets, Fresca, The Bay City Rollers or Rupert trousers, in the fullness of time they will have their own cultural crosses to bear.
When I am a senile old gimmer in an OAP home I expect a condescendingly nonplussed reaction from the nurse when I attempt to headbang to AC/DC from the confines of my Kirton chair. But at least my befuddled mind won't be subjected to an endless internal replays of Horrid Henry, the Teletubbies or Simon bloody Cowell.
Cue Double Deckers team waving: "Seeee you next weeek!"
