It was back in those Formica-coated days of our young dreams where the idea of instant soup was only just making inroads into the consciousness of this nation. Oh, we had brown paper and string aplenty, but the vacuum pack was not even on the horizon. Therefore, we had no inkling of what horrors were to come and the nightmares of pre-packaging we were about to endure.
Back then we were young and in love and the stationary cupboard was to become our haven from the wide kipper ties, patterned shirts and flares of the office as we stole moments of bliss amongst the manila envelopes and cardboard boxes spilling their paper clips all over us as we clung together pressed hard against the piles of carbonless memo-pads.
Still, though, ours was not just a love of stolen workplace moments we had the pubs, only just now awakening to the sounds of Space Invaders and their relentless march across the cathode screens of our computer-driven futures, whilst off in the distance was the new sound of the microwave ping punctuating our lunch hours with inadequately reheated pies and the lukewarm rubber-like cheese toasties.
We had hours together in the half-light flickering of three channels, and the rumoured whispered promise of a fourth, of TV to ignore as we found our way beneath tights and tank-tops into a wondrous world where pubic hair ran wild and free in the innocence of nudity.
But then the times changed and we did too.
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