1970s nostalgia

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

Hello fellow humanoids and I was just having a mind thought moment. I was speaking with somebody the other day who commented to me, "You don't own a television set?" And then they began to ask me why I gave up watching television 20+ years ago . to which was quite a quite Short reply. I can no longer watch TV because I find it all to be complete and utter garbage and rubbish. and they sort of looked at me and thought I was from another planet.

I explained to them that growing up we only had two TV channels to start with and then we had a third. And if we were lucky and had a VHF, black and white TV, we were lucky we could get quite a few of the independent broadcasting companies signals on the old VHF aerials on the VHF black and white TV's back in the day. The guy sort of looked at me and then I explained about my old radio that I used to own which was an old valve radio. that I remember quite happily the smell of the dust on the warming valves as it crackled into life and Radio Caroline or Radio London boomed out. Oh my god, the sound was like you have never heard such a beautiful sound coming from a radio, not like the ones today, I'm sad to say.

You had light wave medium wave short wave. It was absolutely awesome you could listen to radio stations all over the world. It was amazing I absolutely loved it. And right up until the eighties I still listen to the radio listening to all sorts of different stations all over the world, which brought me great enjoyment and I must say some of the programs were absolutely side splitting, amazingly amazin And then you have all these amazing radio stations and podcasts and all sorts of different media you can learn so much stuff i find it totally amazing and it's a constant source of mind blowing information. But of course all that has now been eclipsed by YouTube and other platforms like that on the internet, which are also absolutely mind blowing if you can sort the chiff from the chaff. remember you have to be very careful about what you take in as some of it can be a right load of all crap.

I remember when I was on the radio for over eight years as a comedy radio shock jock but unfortunately I had to give it up due to severe health issues I'm afraid. and also censorship was becoming an issue as well. So it was probably a good job I got off when I did well over a year ago. But it was a great radio station I worked on. The other person was a great guy and well, yeah, I wish them all the best of luck. Maybe one day I might make a comeback, who knows, but I am definitely going to be making my own podcast about multiple sclerosis and my life in general, which should be interesting boring or well, there you go, not that good I suppose, but at least I try.

Still, wishing everybody peace, healing, love and light, no matter who or what you are.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

Well, it's Wednesday. That sacred midweek slump where you're too far from last weekend to still care, and too close to next weekend to legally give up.

Today? We ventured out. Yes, out — into the feral wilds of a local market near where we used to live (back when I had fewer diagnoses and more hair).

Albertine chauffeured me like the dark queen she is, and I stared out the window like a faded Victorian child recovering from consumption. The fields were full of cows, sheep, and idiot drivers who'd traded brain cells for car roof boxes and screaming children.

And then — boom — the average speed cameras appeared. Those big yellow poles of despair. Sentinels of the apocalypse. Albertine had to dodge more bad drivers than Gandalf dodges Balrogs.

Gone are the days of jeans, leather jackets, dodgy boots and patchouli-soaked pheromones. Now it’s all people-movers packed tighter than Tory lies, roof racks piled like refugee carts, and dead-eyed dads named Dave.

We arrived. Market time. Indoor chaos. Got out of Mr Rusty (my noble van) and rolled the wheelchair into the sea of fluorescent lighting, discount socks, and the perfume of stale chips.

Fat Tony's stall? Glorious. Tony and Paul – sages of the street – held court like two greasy prophets. We talked life, death, and probably cheese graters. I was sipping juice like a royal goblin while Albertine suffered in solemn, saintly silence.

Then I rolled past the 3D print shop – a futuristic corner of the market that honestly makes NASA look like cavemen with Play-Doh.

And lo – a crystal stall! Witchy delights. Pagan bits. Pointy shiny things that allegedly absorb vibes (hopefully not my brain fog, but one can dream). Obviously, I bought some. Witchcraft's cheaper than the NHS.

Then met a biker. Simon. Old school. One of us. Had a proper chat about the 1970s, leather, death, and what’s left of life.

Brain fog still thick. Cognition feels like someone parked a fog machine inside my skull and left it running. Whole left side’s numb. NHS? Useless. "Come in sir, let's slice you open and shrug!" No thanks. If death is the cure, I’ll pass.

Spellchecker now malfunctioning. Cognitive warning sirens going off. Too many lunatic motorists today. Seems everyone's running from something, probably themselves.

Anyway — we survived. Just. Another victory for the broken and the damned. See you next Wednesday.

                                             !!DISCLAIMER !!

This blog shares raw and personal experiences with mental and physical health. Some posts may be triggering. I'm not a professional - just writing my truth. Please don't take this as medical advice.

                          “The views in this post are based on my personal       
                         experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

                               “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                                      By storm and silence, I survive.”

                                    @goblinbloggeruk  -  sick@mylivinghell.co.uk