heres' a new one, its about the eighties

Hagen Engler was there during the eighties. And if you understand what any of this is about, so were you.

Big hair, big heels, big jackets. Colosally lumo colours, with big belt buckles and big slogans splashed across everything. Big dreams, big attitude and big scrunchy elastics to give you big, vertical, off-centre ponytails so you looked like your head was exploding.

It was the big eighties, and everyone who was there to take part in it keeps their photographic proof well hidden.

‘Coz it’s embarrassing. People don’t dress like that any more.

But those were the fashions, and you had to follow them – ’specially if you were a teenager.

If you were a girl you’d have been crimping your hair with crimping irons before squeezing it into your vertical pony.

You, with your blue and pink eye-shadow, glossy pink lipstick and your fake Madonna beauty mole. I saw you at the open party.

I asked you to dance to Take on Me by A-ha, but you turned me down because I was wearing pin-striped Instinct drawstring slacks.

And everyone knew cobalt blue was the coolest colour.

But who cared about that whole plastic nightclub music scene anyway? Androgynous overly made-up starswith false eyebrows that pointed up at the ends? Boy George and Culture Club and Queen and New Romantic ponces with platinum blonde hair and kuifs the size of lounge curtains hanging in their eyes.

Bollocks to that.

Although I did check you at the Petit Cheval concert, that time they played support for eVoid. You were looking fine in your plastic belt, neon pink leg-warmers and your lumo green Frankie Says Relax top.

Mainly I was a beach cat, chilling on the sand with my 5’11" Levin twin-fin with channels and a box for optional tri-fin conversion.

No, I had it together. Had a bit of a kuif going on, sure, but more like the dudes from Depeche Mode than ABC.

But with my lumo-green zinc sunblock and my reflective Style Eyes mirror sunglasses on, you just can’t resist me. Especially not when I’ve also got my Bear International muscle top on. Yeah, baby I’m just oozing sex appeal when I get that sucker out.

It makes a perfect ensemble with my pastel pink towelling walk shorts – the ones so short that my goolies hang out of them if I sit down.

Which is why I normally wear my bright orange knee-length Gotcha boardshorts when I’m surfing. I got the skills.

You checked me doing verts in the bowl, I know you did. Lank kief verts, and layback tube-rides, and bunny-hop aerials, ja, I know you been watching me.

I checked you there on the pier with your Ray-Bans on, with your boob tube and your tight stone-washed jean. Looking so fine. Although, so did your mate with the layered hair like Charlies Angels, in her super-tight pink mini skirt and the torn purple pantihose. Those hoop earrings were sharp.

I think I sharp your mate just as much as you. Why don’t you both come visit some time?

We can go shopping – I need some checked trouser braces and a rhinestone Michael Jackson glove to go with my High Chapparel cowboy hat.

We can also pick up some stickers from the surf shop. Surf Rats ones, and maybe a Country Feeling Surf Africa T-shirt and a pair of Ugg boots to go with my Rip Curl tracksuit pants.

If you’re not into that we can just chill at my place and do the Rubiks cube, or watch the A-Team.

Unless you girls aren’t into boys stuff and just wanna stay home with your Hello Kitty collections and your Cabbage Patch dolls. But whatever, I’m cool with that.

I know how you eighties girls think about boys. "If they don’t give my proper credit, I just walk away-ay," like Madonna said. Respect.

We can get to know each other better when we’re all grown up. In the 90s some time.

Till then, I got my double-wing twin-fin to keep me busy, with its fluoro green leash and lumo yellow lemon-scented Sex Wax. Yeah that baby keeps me entertained.

And when I’m over that, there’s always my dad’s Scope collection, my Atari TV games and my Juluka albums.

But if you change your mind, give me a scotch call from the phone box or leave a message with my mom.

I’ll phone you back, or I’ll come visit, or we can go to Milky Lane.

Anyway, you’ve had your chance. If I don’t check you soon I’ll see you some time round the year 2000 and then you’ll be sorry.

You’ll realise you could’ve had a dude as cool as me back in the eighties, but you missed out. I can see you kicking yourself from here.