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img_02081966 and England won the World Cup. Football, that is. Now there are world cups for all sorts of activities – ludo and macramé, probably.

2016 and many of those six years of the Common Era (AD in old money) have become zero anniversaries. The Battle of Hastings, the death of Shakespeare, the Easter Rising, the Battle of the Somme, the birth of Princess Ellizabeth and Sir David Attenborough. An assortment of celebrations.
Old money? You wouldn’t say that in 1966.
Lots of things you wouldn’t have said in 1966. Internet, Instagram, Google. Girls from Essex were no different from girls from Devon or Middlesex. We did have dolly birds.

Paramount was a Hollywood film studio, not a politician’s go-to word.
Yes, Middlesex.
Brexit, newly minted.
Go-to. Must-have. You must have your own words to go-to.

Now we have our own zero year, five zero.
‘How do you want to celebrate?’ he said.
‘With a new bathroom,’ I said, ‘Yourself?’ (I’d have said ‘You’ in 1966.)
‘Not with a new bathroom,’ he replied.

Brexit means –
??????????????????????

‘I’d like to see tigers in India,’ I said. ‘There’s a tour in this brochure.’
‘Yes, but I’ll search around, go online.’
OMG, I thought, delaying tactics.
I didn’t really think OMG. It was probably WTF.
Not in common use in 1966, despite Philip Larkin. We didn’t fuck in 1966, golly gosh no. Now it’s obligatory, ubiquitous.

Anyway 2016 was a year of celebrations for us whenever we took time out from the gloom of the year, the Referendum, the US Presidential Election, Syria, and personally the passing of dear friends.
Easter saw us in Ireland, visiting the relations, joining in the Dublin celebrations, forever grateful to Robert Gogan for empowering us to an understanding of Ulysses with his dramatisation and punctuation of the book.
We toured the battlefields of WW1 and witnessed the nightly Menin Gate ceremony. Later we went to Scotland, first time in 35 years, and saw the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, one for the bucket list.
Bucket list? Probably not in 1966.
Several visits to Spain.

Our eldest grandchild became an adult, the rest will follow soon. Now she can vote. She couldn’t do that in 1966. Our children are middle-aged, unless they live to 120.
We won’t, of course.
But if we run out of words – and there’s no silver bullet – then:

😀 😃 😄 😁 😆 😅 😂 ☺ 😊 😇 🙂 😉 😌 😍 😘 😗 😙 😚 😋 😜 😝 😛 😎 😏 😒 😞 😔 😟 😕 🙁 😣 😖 😫 😩 😤 😠 😡 😶 😐 😑 😯 😦 😧 😮 😲 😵 😳 😱 😨 😰 😢 😥 😭 😓 😪 😴 😬 😷
Simples.

They think it’s all over.

We are going to see the tigers.
And the plumber’s been to measure the bathroom.

Not quite.

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