What happened happened.
Time marches on... or when you get to the vintage I am now in possession of it races on.
On that note... some chap noted, in the wake of my declaration that I had now entered Goldcardland, that I could console myself with the knowledge I was like a well-aged fine wine.
To which I responded that no, that as far too generous.
More like a cheap sherry.
Time certainly does move on, and with it things change.
We physically change, our fashion changes, our tastes change, our attitudes change and technology most certainly changes.
As do perceptions and things like that... for what may have once been taken lightly or tolerably in decades long past is today scorned and snarled at all over the place.
Once upon a time, half-a-century or so back, there was an author of books for kids by the name of Enid Blyton.
With her Famous Five books she arguably taught as many kids to embrace literature and enjoy reading as JK Rowling did with Harry Potter, and her Noddy tales delighted the little ones at bedtime.
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So she was recently considered for a special place on the coinage of her land, Great Britain.
But those on the national mint panel declined to do so, as she was deemed to have been racist and sexist, and even bullying.
No complaints back then... but in this "enlightened" age... no dice.
And Justin Trudeau, for he once donned black make-up for a high school show and back in 2001 after dressing as Aladdin in an Arabian Nights event.
It is not a right thing to do, that's for sure and he has apologised, but what gets me is that there were no complaints back then, but now that he's on the global political stage in this increasingly social-media-awash age they emerge.
Prince Harry (in his young and wandersome years) got in the poo when he decided to arrive at some function in a German military uniform.
He was scolded (I think that's the royal terminology for a verbal hiding) for this outrageous choice of a suit to wear.
His family have a rock solid linkage to doing their part during the war he chose his suit from... although it was from the "other" side of course.
He was doing what so many young lads have done for ever and ever... make a splash and cause a bit of a stir.
I dare say had he not been a prince it would have gone unnoticed.
My father engaged the German forces through the armoured push up through Italy in '44 and '45 and while they were always enemies, in his heart he did once note that "they make damned good engines".
However, I dare say he would have been miffed to have seen the garb I wore for a fundraising debate 30 or so years ago where we were asked to wear a "colourful" suit of sorts.
I hired a German officer's uniform.
Stopping at a petrol station on the way to top up drew a few glances.
One bloke at the bowser opposite grinned and suggested trying to pay in Deutshmarks could be tricky.
Yeah, probably a tad tasteless but it was a one-off event, and my late mum (who did her own stints of local war service duties) simply laughed and said I would have looked ridiculous.
She got that right.
But hey, back then the costume hire places had stocks of them and people hired them.
And once upon a time I used to have a pair of snakeskin boots.
Crikey, no worries getting into the dear old Cabana back in '75 but today I dare say the environmentalists would man the doors and have me barred.
Like the fox-fur (complete with head) mum wore in the '30s and '40s, no longer acceptable.
But once upon a time they were.
Which takes me back to my opening stanza... that what happened then, happened then, and needs to stay "then".
Because it was not decried as unacceptable.
We lived in naive times I guess, and have grown up, but what happened back then should stay back then.
If I were to run for council (but believe me, it's never entered my mind) someone would hit the social media front line and point out I once wore the uniform of a German officer.
And I would be hung, drawn and quartered.
But on that evening I was simply laughed at.
All about timing I guess.
* Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.