We could all learn a thing or two from Bryan Adams. Ever since Eric Idle and Ben Elton approached him with the idea for a ‘Summer of Sixty-Nine’ rock opera, a last-ditch attempt to appease the Hive Queen and her encroaching swarm forest, the general populace has become obsessed with confusing and nostalgic ideas about the past, specifically that summers in Britain used to be hot, men didn’t hug other men and murder was rarer than the Apocalypse Circus – who, sadly, only come once a year.

Golden Oldies

Of course, the sweetest thing about being old is having been alive long enough to see how radically everything has gone to shit. The old are the worst. They’re so smug. And they’re right to be. Life was just better back then. Certainly safer. That’s a fact. Back in the old days you could play on the streets and leave your front door open and no one would walk in and steal the bread from your oven. Nowadays people don’t have ovens; they buy their sausage rolls hot from the Tesco and eat them standing over a bin. Back in the golden olden days you could dive headfirst into a jet engine with a dog under your arm because for God’s sake people just respected each other and that’s the way things were done. Back before all those immigrants. Talking wrong and taking all of our good bunting for curry bibs without even washing their hands in the circular motion approved by the NHS.

Lost in Time

Look up. See that marker, the one hovering over your head? Now look at your wrist: your smart watch cheeps like a bird in an earthquake when you get too close to the lard, reminding you grimly of your pulse like a pimp who insists on standing in the corner of the room and pointing at the clock as you make sweet love to one of his angels. We’re walking databases. In the past life was more of a local affair (which is also where you had your affairs), the end result being when an old person was given a book they could read it without skimming it or jabbing the words in the hope that they’ll open up a top ten list about celebrity tits.

It’s normal to be envious of that state of mind – in other words, one not hardwired to respond to the sounds of a phone vibrating on different surfaces; the same goes for the hour’s writing every day that I consider a “good effort” and a free pass to spend the rest of the day facing the wall, nervously fingering the small change in my pocket and thinking about lard.

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Time and Again

The problem with time is it rubs off on people. It’s a well-trodden path, and if you get too close to someone old they just open their mouths and start speaking. But it’s true: people had community values back then, and community values are better than individual values because lots of people agreed with them. Back before the time that everyone had a phone and unlimited web access, the people of a community actually spent time together – face-to-face. They looked out for each other. If a bad thing like a rape or a murder happened, which it never did because things were better back then, community spirit prevented it. Nowadays the lights are brighter. Sounds louder. And it’s distracting. Have you ever tried to build a house with someone jabbing you in the face with an electric Swiss Army knife? It’s basically the same concept, and either way you’re going to need to get those eyes looked at because now they’re full of knives. Ouch!

Not that the women were so lucky. Now that porn is obligatory, women are finally free to get their clitorises slapped with all kinds of penises, faces and open palms – some of them are even mildly aware of the orgasms that pass them by like McDonald’s signs in the night. Truly a utopia. And Richard Littlejohn approves.

But all ‘old’ means is that death is closer. Not just closer but close. When elderly people in literature or film (or Jon Bon Jovi songs) remark so sagely that they are ready to die, or at the least are not afraid of death, literally everyone else in the world calls it as unbelievable nonsense and doesn’t stop screaming until the old person gets back in the toilet. So what’s the deal with aging? Sure everyone’s doing it – but what’s the catch?

Artwork by James Snook

Science by me

Life updates hopefully soon

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