Pin Up Legends - The 70's

So it’s been a while since I last posted on these pages and I have to say getting back into the literary saddle has been far from easy.  Having spent most of this evening scouring the internet for topical inspiration it has become apparent that the creative juices just weren't coming out to play.

Then, just as all else seemed lost, a real ‘light bulb’ moment! Why don’t I do a piece about something I actually know a little bit about? So here it is guys, clunk-click and enjoy the trip, we’re going back in time to my spotty long haired youth and (In no particular order) my personal top ten teenage pin up’s of the 1970’s.

By the way, for those of you hoping to see the likes of David Cassidy, Donny Osmand and David Essex please accept my apologies, you won't find them here!

Ole! Ole! Ole!

Now you’ll have to bear with me on this one because the facts are a little hazy, but believe me the memories will live long in the heart.

Like most boys during the 1970’s the absence of todays technological advances meant that football to me was everything, in fact it consumed me. In my mind no one could ever begin to understand the joy I felt when I had a football at my feet. What’s more it didn’t matter whether I was playing for my local team, in the playground at school or playing on the local park with my mates, I just had to play at every opportunity. 

Cue memories of jumpers for goalposts and ‘rush’ goalies!

A Beacon that Shines Bright in Darker Times

Look amidst the fallout of the recent global economic crisis and you will see the shape of the business landscape is changing.

As the larger private sector corporations gradually disappear from the business radar, relinquishing many of once secure, reliable employment they have left in their wake a remarkable by product.

Star Soccer

Let me take you back, right back actually to Saturday 17^th January 1981. It’s about 9.40am and like most teenagers I’m having a problem dragging my wiry little carcass out of bed!

I pop my head out from under the bed sheets, reach out and pull aside my bedroom curtains to get a glimpse of what it’s doing outside. It looks like another cold one, a thin layer of ice appears to have set on the outside of the window and small pools of condensation have started to settle on the window sill. Like most folk on our road double glazing was yet to grace the façade of our humble abode.

Wild Horses

For three days we have been entrenched in this wet and filthy hollow, the rain is relentless and claws at our skin as we ready ourselves, staring skywards with empty eyes in silent contemplation of the scene we will face once the order is given and the whistle blows.

At times the silence is deafening. As you sit waiting, your thoughts, induced by an unfathomable fear, charge thunderously through your mind like a stampede of wild horses, and then they are gone, like the clouds in the sky.

Twice during these last few days we have been expecting the order. Twice we have prepared ourselves mentally for this moment, standing at the foot of the abyss, assuring ourselves that our artillery will do its worst, striking at the heart of our enemy’s defences, clearing the way as we advance in our quest for territorial gain.