Remember those...?

The sight of an Activia-licking Martine McCutcheon swinging aloft in a post-mod take on suspended furniture brought the 1970s rushing back to me. Back then, I remember being thoroughly puzzled by the sight of a swinging basket chair in a newly-furnished suburban bedroom. Was it for him or for her to sit in, I wondered, since sharing the thing was nigh on impossible. And what the effect on the seated party was supposed to be, heaven only knew, since comfort was out of the question. Said party would only be able to teeter for a minute or so, before going in search of a real chair. I suspect the newly-weds used it to gracefully drape their discarded clothing upon each night, for a few years, before seeing the light and consigning the useless, dust-gathering shebang to an autumn bonfire. Well, we all have to grow up.
Another tooth-clencher is the memory of those ‘crinoline’ lampshades from the same era. I don’t know which was the most unsettling; the frightful, grinning plastic cadaver of a doll seated over the illumined area, or the garish bands of ruched fabric organised so as to travesty what was a most unattractive fashion to begin with. Or was it the sheer discomfort of being in company with a person who would even dream of putting such horrible schmuck in a place of prominence in the sanctity of their home – come back, flying china ducks! All is forgiven. Every age has its madness, I know. Two decades ago, many a motorist had a daily encounter with a seat cover made of wooden beads, and a pair of furry dice. More recently, matrons were going gaga over those arachnidan Philippe Starck lemon juicers. Maybe in ten years’ time, we’ll all look back in horror at the distorting of the human foot by a tide of flip-flops. In the meantime, my pen is gathering steam over carpeted kitchens, furry loo-seat covers and dancing plastic flowers – but that is for another day.