1984, not just a nightmarish year for Orwell, but also a bad one for rediscovered photographs, it would appear.

The year was 1984, the one of dread in Orwells mind. It wasn't quite as bad as he predicted but for those of us with Eye problems, it was the full swing of NHS prescription glasses, before people realised they might like them as a fashion accessory. You had a choice as a child of a pair with such Thick Blacklenses you could absorb all the suns rays, if you fancied. Or the old fall back of tortouise shell style, which never will work, ever, unless your name is Thora Hird and you like maccaroones. The gold coloured ones that were recycled heatshields off the brand Space shuttle. Designed to reflect great heat and attract ridicule in equal measure.

I had black, as you can clearly see.



For those of you who remain unsure, it's second left, top row. If you can stop laughing.

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