It is easy to reminisce about the wonderful sixties and seventies. The music, the art, the culture, the fashion and the generation that fought so hard to change the world. A time of anti-war and anti-racism combined with an innocence and naivety that only made the times more wonderful.
Today’s younger generation have taken up the mantle and they too are shaping opinions, politics and art. Placing their indelible imprint on society for future generations to talk about and debate. Musical icons of today will become the Frank Sinatra, Jimi Hendrix and Pat Boone type legends for the current generation to listen to when they are sixty-five.
But one thing has gone missing from the halcyon days of the sixties and seventies that the current generation will never experience. UFOs!
So where have all the UFOs gone? Away with the flowers of San Francisco? Blowin’ away in the wind of Dylan. Passed by and departed with Jimi in a Purple Haze?
How many years has it been since a grainy black and white photo of an odd glow in the night sky made the front page of a newspaper? For that matter, where have all the newspapers gone? All the secrets of Roswell and Area 54 have vaporised into ancient history. Only discussed by ageing conspiracy theorists who now inhabit nursing homes for the clinically bored.
I love mysteries. And UFOs were the best ones during my younger years. I really miss them. We have been sterilised and disemboweled of our lust for flying saucers, Martians, alien races and little green men with antennas. Orson Wells is probably rolling in his grave at this very moment. War of the Worlds wouldn’t even raise the eyebrow of a four year old today.