1980, a country dances to the sound of the New Romantics, while Thatcher cuts services to the bone. Same as it ever was, same as it ever will be.
But it was also a time where a great wrong was committed. A wrong that can only be put right of THE FIELD OF HONOUR.
As long-time readers of this page will know, my life has been scarred by a single event that took place that year. An event that has never been resolved, leaving two grown men to go three decades, festering with anger, shame and rage.
I refer, of course, to the Great Piggott School Bicycle Crash of 1980, in which a unfortunate pile-up outside our educational establishment led to the complete and utter destruction of the velocipede belonging to my very good friend, who stalks this website under the pseudonym of "Balders".
My involvement in the Great Piggott School Bicycle Crash of 1980 was peripheral - I was forced to brake heavily on the roundabout outside the school to avoid a growing pile-up caused entirely by Girls On Bikes - while the younger Balders did not, resulting in his machine disappearing under approximately 100 pairs of wheels, smashed down to pieces that could have been posted home in a match box.
And for this - an accident for which I was not to blame, Balders - fleeing to the People's Republic of South Yorkshire - has borne a grudge these last thirty years.
But now, this must end.
I DEMAND SATISFACTION
Sirrah, for these slurs I shall see you on THE FIELD OF HONOUR.
The Field of Honour in question being a darkened cellar in Reykjavik*, where we shall be armed with thirty-pound sledgehammers
Then - and only then - can we allow this life-long shame rest. Except for the loser, obviously, who shall be hurled into a lagoon.
* Twinned with Hull - FACT!