I’m reading Bonfire of the Vanities and it’s provided definitive proof, as if proof were needed, that I was simply born too late. The fact of my being born in the wrong country and possibly continent have been well-documented before now, so we won’t dwell on my unsatisfied longing for New York.
But man, the eighties. Being born in the middle of the decade is just poor timing as far as I’m concerned, and one I must remember to berate my parents for. How could someone like me in my super-capitalist, poor fashion sense and usually selfish ways have wasted the eighties learning to walk and talk, such mundane things?
Greed is good. Well, maybe it’s not, but I would have had a fabulous time in the booming markets with my beloved Mrs T running the show. Although, there was no internet and the striking coal miners would really have irritated me, so perhaps it’s for the best.