Aged ciphers fail to cope with our contemporary online terrorised selfs

Do you remember the 90s? They say you weren't there if you can dismember it. To recap, it was a long exploding omnimoment of immanent wow. We left corpo-real-time on a vector of heightened gnosis, rupturing normal impressions of the passing of calendar time. Statistics tell us that it felt like it took thirty-three and a third years to get to 1997 from the start of the decade. Those potions were strong. 

Compare that with the decade since 2000, which has flown past. It's already 2007, and it effectively only took two and tuppence to get there. A heavy dose of post-millenial tension mainly brought on by some ill-judged American self-immolation means we're always up against the clock, measuring our progress in trying to avoid the inevitable collapse. How we experience the personal with the political has been inverted, gone is the carefree wiley eternity of yonder and in comes a morbid preoccupation with time. In addition, the now-pervasive metatime of digi-world makes most of our shared experiences virtual, and some of them a bit scatty, particularly when we duck the new paradigms and try to repersonalise everything.

Of course, such chrono-feeling is largely irrelevant - I am literally much older these days while others have yet to hit the peak of their youth. These and similar not-so-amazing revelations popped out in abundance in This Life + 10, updating us on the life and gloves of the characters from the hit show of the mid-90s, characteristically the most flatulent period of any decade. Needless to say, it was really bad, not that the original series was as good as jacked off about, but it was so great to see Jack Davenport play the truculent chauvinist hunk Miles again. What a man he was, in the 90s or any other decade - this time he had the jumpers and ridiculous hair to match. Mark Lawson's cameo helped no-one.