Happy Birthday to the last of the Gen X legends: A nostalgic ride through life..

Ah, the 1980s—a glorious time of neon, leg warmers, and mullets so majestic they were practically works of art. Happy birthday to me, a proud member of the last generation to experience the world before the internet turned everything into memes and selfies, and 1 minute dopamine rushes. Back then, life wasn’t about screens; it was about scars, adventure, and a healthy disregard for rules.

welshie and little sister

My childhood was a masterpiece of simplicity. Bikes weren’t just a mode of transport—they were freedom on two wheels. You and your mates would cycle for hours, venturing into abandoned train stations, climbing into derelict buildings, and daring each other to enter the spooky corners. Those crumbling remnants of Wales’ industrial past were your playgrounds. Now they’ve been flattened to make way for "affordable housing" that no one can actually afford. Progress, right?

Rain never stopped play. If it rained, you played in it. Mud was just part of the fun, and your parents didn’t bat an eyelid when you came home drenched and filthy. And let’s not forget the epic games of kerbsy, marbles, or Conkers—where no one questioned why we were hurling hard seeds on strings at each other’s knuckles like gladiators.

The welshstacker family

My evenings were spent glued to the TV, sitting cross-legged in front of Knight Rider, The A-Team, or Grange Hill. And when the show ended? It was time to endure a family argument over what was taped over on the VHS, as someone inevitably recorded EastEnders over your copy of Ghostbusters.

The tech of the time was a marvel—8-bit consoles that brought Mario, Sonic, and Pac-Man to life on our fuzzy, square TVs. The joy of Duck Hunt with the light gun, or the panic of blowing into a cartridge to get it working, was unmatched. And if you were really lucky, someone in your neighbourhood had a Commodore 64 or an Amiga, and you all crowded around to play pixelated classics like Bubble Bobble or Lemmings.

School trip - 13yrs old

Fashion was, shall I say, bold. Parachute pants, Hypercolor T-shirts, shell suits that made you look like a neon jellybean, and enough hair gel to glue down a small child. You thought you were cool with your slap bracelet, Casio calculator watch, and Reebok Pumps. Spoiler alert: you weren’t.

Rugby and me have been good friends - 14yrs old

When you hit your teens, the world opened up a little more. Your push bike was still your trusted chariot, but now you were riding it to meet up with friends, scout out the local video rental shop, or spend hours at the arcade with pockets full of 10p coins. (Street Fighter II was a battlefield, and “Hadouken!” still echoes in your memories.)

Music was life. You sat by the radio, finger hovering over the cassette recorder, trying to tape your favourite songs without catching the DJ talking over the intro. Whether you were into Madonna, Michael Jackson, or Guns N’ Roses, you knew the pain of rewinding a tape with a pencil after the player chewed it up.

Drunk somewhere in London

Early 20s - boys holiday

And then came your twenties, a glorious mix of wanderlust and questionable decisions. You swapped your bike for a plane ticket to cheap Mediterranean getaways with the boys. These weren’t “cultural experiences” in the traditional sense—unless you count learning how many pints of cheap lager you could drink before the karaoke machine called your name. You sang your heart out to Wonderwall and danced like no one was watching, even though everyone definitely was.

Old enough to know better, still young enough to get away with it

But now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Im lucky to manage a single night out, let alone two weeks of debauchery. These days, the mere thought of drinking that much makes my liver file a formal complaint. Kids don’t respect their elders, driving is a chore, and im fairly certain my knees have started to creak. But despite all that, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Im a proud survivor of a bygone era—an era of walkie-talkies instead of WhatsApp, dial-up tones instead of Wi-Fi, and Saturday morning cartoons instead of endless scrolling. I remember when “be kind, rewind” was an act of courtesy, not a viral trend.

So here’s to me, the last of the Gen X rebels. Happy birthday to a legend whose life was built on scraped knees, cassette tapes, and more stories than TikTok could ever tell. Cheers to another year of wisdom, nostalgia, and maybe—just maybe—learning how to use that smartphone properly.