Thursday 12 June 2014

Nostalgia

The party was last night – a house warming for friends in North London where I crashed with a tooth brush and a spare pair of pants (forward planning). I walk over to the front lounge window and look at the house across the street – an address where my brother used to live. ‘When was it?’ I count back as I do the maths and am momentarily shocked to discover it was twenty five years ago. My hostess appears from the kitchen and hands me a cup of coffee. I point out the house and tell her the history of when I used to visit the area. “You should spend some time around here if you have time and see how much has changed”. I check the time. I’ve no need to be back in London until later. “Yeah might do” I muse. She and her boyfriend make breakfast for myself and the few waifs and strays who have stayed over and half an hour later I say my goodbyes. We agree to meet up for drinks later in the week.

I climb into the car and start off in the direction of Enfield Town. The sun is shining and it’s heat magnifies through the windscreen as I wind down the driver’s window before taking a turning into the main road. Memory escapes me of the last time I drove this way as I notice some of the shops I used to walk past or pop into on the way home from school. The hairdressers flies past the window on the left – the colour and wording of the shop sign unchanged from when I was a boy. Coming up on the right is the building that houses the pet shop that’s been there since as long as I can remember. We used to pop in there after school to look at the latest hamsters and guinea pigs and wonder about the parrot at the back – would we ever hear it talk? I gasp with a sudden sadness though as I pass it with the realisation that it’s now an Indian restaurant. There’s no one behind me and so I brake and take a look out of the driver’s window at the front of the building. The smell of pet food and the sound of squawking birds is still so clear in my mind. ‘Wow’ I muse. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a car horn behind me and an irate little old man in a red Honda. I push on and drive in the town centre with a mix of familiarity and curiosity. Some places are the same and others have changed, including the road layout. I decide to park up and take a wander.

I am a sucker for nostalgia and I pull up in a car park that I remember my mum using before dragging us around the shops. I walk the route from the car park into town – a route that seemed to take forever to walk when I was little but which in reality takes only several minutes. I smile inwardly at this realisation as I walk past the Barclays Bank where I opened my first bank account. It still has the same sign on the wall which proudly tells people using the ATM that this was where the world’s very first ATM was installed. I walk from one end of town to the other scanning the filing cabinet of my mind for childhood adventures and recollections. And then I see him.

He’s tall, slim and dark haired and is walking towards me from about 50 meters away. ‘Is that Frank?’ The gap between us closes rapidly as I try and work out if it’s actually him. We used to go to the same school and we were even in the same class at one point. We didn’t really hang out though as we had different friends. We’d acknowledge one another with a nod and a raise of eyebrows if we passed in the school yard or corridor. ‘Is it him though?’, I wonder as we get closer. ‘It could be him’ (40 meters) , I look closer ‘I’m sure it’s him’ (30 meters)) ‘Bloody hell it’s him!’ (25 meters). ‘Right, now what? Do I say something?' (20 meters) 'Do I pretend I haven’t seen him?’ (15 meters). ‘I could just look at my shoes’ (5 metres). He is a couple of meters away as I lift my head and I look at him and he looks at me and we raise our eyebrows and we nod and we keep on walking.

I’m buoyed and reflective as I walk back to my car. It’s been a brief but fun and nostalgic visit. Sad though the loss of old haunts like the pet shop is however, time can’t stand still and change is something that ought to be embraced like a new friend. In twenty years’ time there’ll doubtless be someone for whom the Indian restaurant was a part of their childhood, who’ll mull over how sad it is that’s it’s turned into a bookies or estate agents. Happily though whilst buildings and places change, it seems that people don’t and hopefully they’ll have the silent acknowledgment of someone they used to know to remind them of that.