This weekend I became non-displaced again in order to visit my parents. I think trips home now are the only way I can really (at lest pretend) to time travel. I forget how much my parents house hasn’t changed since sometime in the 80s and given their strange desire for flowery soft furnishings, you can subtract maybe a decade from that so the overall effect is like going back in time to the 70s (I should point out however that I was born in 1981, a child of capitalism and the digital age). Ikea was something that happened to other people not my parents, their sofa cushions are so plump that they threaten to capsize anyone who rests upon them, and our kitchen has tasteful faux wood panelling up to waist height and flowery wallpaper from there on up.
Also I forget the fact that they come from the Starch-Is-Fun school of cooking (face it you might as well just blend a potato and inject it straight into your bloodstream). Everything seemed to be boiled too. My parents are learning though – they have DVD and a TV hardrive so I can’t be too harsh. I should point out that I actually do like my parents, I just think they’re too set in their ways to change.