It was acceptable at the time

Something terrifying is happening and nobody seems to have noticed.

All the signs are there - we're suffering a miserable recession, the IRA are killing people and Michael Jackson is preparing for a sold-out tour.

That's right, our worst fears have happened - we're back in the Eighties!

Somehow Great Britain has become stuck in a time loop and my fear is it will spread to the rest of the world.

Now, I know that the recession isn't limited to our own corner of the world, but imagine if this hideous Eighties epidemic were to spread as voraciously. We must all be on alert, from the global authorities to the man (or woman) on the street. As a public service I have decided to compile a list of early warning signs to keep an eye out for:

• A mass congregation of bricklayers in central Berlin.
• Any of the following being funny: Eddie Murphy, Steve Martin, Dan Ackroyd, Ben Elton, Chevy Chase (in fact if you spot Chevy Chase being funny at all something has probably gone terribly wrong).
• Balding drummers and Geordie guitar prats somehow being considered as the purveyors of cutting edge music.
• Pointless groups of islands in the middle of nowhere with a population of about four being described as 'strategically placed' by our government and the Sun.
• Extra-strength hair gel selling by the bucketload.
• The birth of a boy who, although outwardly appearing to be an awkward geek, of the ilk which could make a good web editor, may well be the new messiah.
• Thatcher standing firm atop a pile of exhausted pit workers holding a school milk bottle out of the reach of a thirsty toddler.
• Noel Edmonds and his buffoon pal Cheggers creating unwatchable television in a studio packed with baying morons.

Admittedly the last one has already happened (I would say check out Noel's HQ, but really please don't), so we may already be too late.

The problem is, now we have diagnosed the disease we have to find a cure. My suggestion - we force the Nineties to arrive early (or late, depending on how you look at it). So run out now, buy a hoody, a whistle and some baggy jeans, I'll call Shaun Ryder and I'll meet you all down the Hacienda. Mad for it!