It's early summer 1984. It's warm, sunny and nice. I've spent the morning stacking shelves at M&S and the afternoon sunbathing on Plymouth Hoe alternating between chatting to the girls, listening to Steve Wright on my Walkman and listening to my new Frankie Goes to Hollywood album.
Now I’m back at the flat, in the kitchen, rooting around in the freezer. I’ve got fish fingers, oven chips and frozen peas and not much else. I’m thinking of going down to the arts centre and eating at their cafe/restaurant. Then maybe call in at the Oldwell Eating House to see the ‘gang’.
The black and white tv in the corner is only 2ins wide so I’m more listening than watching. I can hear the local BBC South West news programme winding up. Then it will be some dreary local programme, probably some bloke touring the West Country in a Morris Minor looking at things. Definitely time to visit the arts centre! I hear the announcer say “… And now Floyd on Fish, a cookery programme with flamboyant Bristol resturanter Keith Floyd”.
Life hasn’t been quite the same since.