Oh no, what happened? I was promised tours to the moon, moving sidewalks, domed cities underneath the sea and even promised a faithful robotic sidekick just like K9 from Dr Who when I grew up. I was eight years old when a teacher decided to predict the future and fill my mind with mystery and misery. As I sat cross legged with my fellow pupils I listened with open mouth at the marvels that we were to behold. This was before home computers, before mobile phones, before CD's and MP3's, even at home we had not long upgraded to a colour television and coloured disco lighting, the most complex thing I had used was an abacus and none of my friends wore branded clothes or owned anything more complex in their bedrooms other than maybe a radio or if you were lucky a cassette player.
So as I sat and listened my mind wandered, wow, I would be REALLY old in 2015, absolutely ancient in fact but on the plus side I would eat a pill for a meal and live to be 200, this teacher really knew their stuff I thought.
Imagine my dismay this 2015 when I got out of bed this morning and ate a pill, not for a complete meal but to make up for the lack of vitamins in most flaccid food items available today, found out that the closest I'm going to get to the moon is looking at it in a puddle and opened my iPad to find this... (yes, something did come true with smartpads although the the teacher described it as a personal data assistant and medical aid which could also add 2+2 and spell 53I8008 should you wish to turn it upside down)
I'll let that sink in a little, scissors for pizza.
Forty years waiting for dreams to come true and I get a foot long tool to cut fast food.
I may hasten to add that the same teacher also made grim predictions that added to my neurotic young brain, first that all fuel will run out by 2000 but it wouldn't matter as nuclear destruction would destroy all life in 1999 anyway, secondly robots would put us all out of jobs in the 90's no matter what education you receive and finally the most dreaded information possible that I could receive; that I would be playing an Indian squaw in the school play.
I did indeed play the squaw, pigtails and all. That unfortunately did come true.
But what happened to my robotic canine assistant? Well, that kinda sucked too as he popped up on my Facebook newsfeed last night. History has not been kind to K9...
Poor K9, reduced to a franking machine, how the mighty have fallen. Chin up, at least you didn't have to strip down to your pants, wear a black wig and dance around a tissue paper camp fire with a rubber tomahawk like I did.