I am in the audience of The Good Old Days. I am dressed up to the nines and I itch like buggery. My trousers itch, my vest itches, my underpants itch, my collar itches, my false moustache itches. My braces are chafing my nipples. The woman on my left smells strongly of gin and laughs in a high pitched screech at the least fucking thing. The man on my right reeks of Hi Karate aftershave and every so often turns towards me to ask me if the person on stage is Sheila Steiffel. The camera keeps zooming into me and I pretend to laugh or sing. When I smile my fucking moustache goes in my eyes and stings like fuck. I'm desperate for a piss but I can't move because the whole row would have to stand up and the audience at home would think the audience in the theatre were leaving. I itch I itch I fucking itch and there's still an hour to go.

Good Old Days? Don't give me the fucking Good Old Days.