Rowntrees Fruit Gums. They just don't taste the same anymore. Under Thatcher they were full to brimming with lovely tasty chemicals and they had those knobbly bits on that increased their surface area so maximising the full-on taste sensation. And there was always a red one second from the end. Now they're just made with diluted fruit juice, look like Strepsils and are only good for stripping your fillings out. Certain things were sacred, you know.
The Mighty March of Technology #1. SatNav. Look. I'll be honest. I'm a man and yes, I'll admit we don't like getting lost and (very) occasionally our superior spacial and geographic awareness lets us down. But we had maps a decade ago and we'd all done geography at school so we knew what the funny little symbols meant so we could stop and read them or even stop and ask a local (but only if we were on our own, obviously). Under Blair, every narrow lane, cul-de-sac and cliff-top footpath is now plugged by a Latvian articulated lorry full of over-ripe prawns trying to get to Basingstoke by 8am tomorrow.
Vending Machine Talent: Tone, I hold you singularly responsible for the waste of carbon that is Lily Allen. Having her dad on the same planet is bad enough but allowing him to breed was criminal. I know that strictly speaking her genesis predates the Labour administration but something should have been done to prevent her thinking she had some kind of marketable talent. Your punishment is to sit in cave in the Outer Hebrides with an iPod full of her of socially relevant public school urban-chic jaunty cod-reggae bollocks on repeat until your brain implodes.
The Mighty March of Technology #2. Teh Interwebs. Before Blair it was restricted to a couple of people in Norway talking about their Pink Floyd albums on a bulletin board. Now every witless twat with a telephone line gets to prove to the whole English-speaking world they can't spell "definitely" and there's now a 1 in 25 chance that the next email you open will feature a picture taken with a mobile telephone of a close blood relative with a parsnip up their fundament. All compelling proof that while mankind may have had the technology, it had neither the desire nor the intelligence to put a man on the moon with it after all as long as it involved wireless telecommunications. "That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind. Buzz, you make me ROFLMAO."
Scary industrial strength medicinals. Because your party was supported by the yapping class wasters who thought you'd be legalising their main recreational past-time so talked up a society full of pleasantly mellow dinner parties after the Arsenal game as their major entertainment, evil villains eyeing up the rather obvious main chance and potentially huge new market (as is their wont) replaced their narcotic of choice with its rather more sinister cousins. Consequently, the mildly circumspect youngster of 15 years ago sitting on a park bench laughing his tits off about an earwig crawling over his boot is now, after one toke of skunk, a paranoid schizophrenic ready to slice Mr Patel's hands off with a 14" butcher's cleaver just for a packet of Monster Munch.
The Mighty March of Technology #3. Bluetooth Headsets. Before the Blair administration took over, at least the twat on the train was actually talking into something tangible. It's one of the most unnerving things possible when the bloke next to you suddenly tells you his name's Dave and asks whether you can rearrange Brighton for Thursday.
Brussels. Still around. Successive governments have failed to deal with this blight on our society. I really thought Labour this time round would finally rid us of this evil but they've let me down badly. Will Blair's successor make amends?**
*As opposed to the Legacy (Legacy. Geddit? You know...Blair's Legacy), the decent all-round journeyman in the Subaru range that nobody really objects to, the Tribeca is a massive great wallowing 4 x 4 that will, in most cases, never see a speck of mud. If he's done one good thing, it's starting the process whereby these obscene dick-extensions will be taxed back where they belong; halfway up a Welsh mountain with a couple of prolapsed ewes bleeding all over the back seat.
**Gordon could ban cauliflower as well.