I know I have written about nostalgia here before, but the nostalgia bug has bitten me again recently. I’ve been thinking about the past a lot over the last few weeks. Perhaps it is my age. I am (reluctantly) approaching 50 (28 months to go and counting). I am in denial. Even typing that, seems absurd. Fifty? Me? No way! I’ve always been ‘the youngest’ (of three). I’ve always been the childish one. I’ve always been the fun one. I’m the one who doesn’t like adulting. This ‘child’ me is part of me and hasn’t yet gone anywhere. How on earth can I be approaching 50? That is just bonkers. That is old.
A university friend of mine and I have recently been playing a game we have named ‘cyber stalking’. This is a game where we try to find out what has happened to people we both knew at university (25 years ago) who have somehow disappeared off the face of the earth, not even appearing on that omnipresent social media forum known as Facebook. We have found a few old names / faces each and shared our findings. Paul Blew – looks a very young 47. Gideon White – has no hair now. Nick Johnson-Hill – looks very good for his age. There is no escape, it seems, even if you manage to avoid Facebook. These distant names and personalities we remember are there, if you google their names and / or locations, perhaps with less hair and more wrinkles and life experience than we remember than at 18. I find I am fascinated with finding these lost people. I need to know where they are and how they are, without actually getting in touch and screaming ‘remember me?’ at them. (No doubt they’d say ‘oh, yes, I remember you, the weird one who shared a room with Sara Jenkins and Caroline Whatserface’ And, while we are on the subject, where are Sara without an ‘h’ and Caroline now? I haven’t yet managed to find them. We slept in the same room for a whole year and they are now lost to me.)
I wonder if this need for nostalgia is normal at this age and if it is a sign of the approaching end decade. It probably is. That fact alone, makes me want to yawn, as someone who has always sought not to fit type. How boring, to be predictable! Perhaps I just need to admit that I have become that ‘middle aged’ (shudder) person and embrace this time of my life. So what did ever happen to Pete Butler from the top floor? Where is he now? Every time I hear ‘There She Goes’ by the Las I think of him, but I can’t for the life of me remember why.