I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker

" Oh, I wish I was a punk rocker, with flowers in my hair..." I do love that song, it makes me happy hearing it. And it would make you happy not hearing me sing it in my car. But it's the only thing that saved me from a shopping centre experience today. I went in feeling a bit off and was spat out the other end a few hours later feeling dreadful. How do people shop for entertainment? And the fashions are a shocker at the moment. The styles looked bad in the eighties when I saw them the first time. What twit brought them back? I shall have to imagine an imaginary emergency fashion meeting in Paris with all the fashion big-wigs having been summoned. And then the cold shocking announcement- "Dahhhhhlings, I have dreadful news for the new seasons style ( deathly quiet ) ,we have run out of ideas and we have decided to re-do the early eighties."
Shocked silence and then the unanamous response- "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
"Yes darlings, even your dog would not wear it, but we must convince people that looking shite and moronic is hot, hot, hot. Just do your best."
And that's pretty much what I think must have happened. And I tell you my reaction is not old age. All the twenty somethings were looking very put out too.
I do hate shopping malls though. I enter very bravely, clutching my calico shopping bag and crushed little shopping list and then several hours later, I find myself outside and dazed, blinking in the sunlight, holding several shiny plastic bags containing nothing I really wanted. What really happened in there? It's like those missing hours that alien abductees experience. But at least the aliens found what they wanted.