The Irony of Forgetting the Hippocampus...

The Bond family's WhatsApp group is an interesting place to hang out. A hotch-potch of info, gossip, and news. (It's arguable there are no distinctions between each.) It combines videos of the nieces and neph, weekly pub quiz rankings, football bantz, and important news. It's literally the only way I communicate with several members of my family, and when I've had reason to keep my phone in my bag for a couple of hours, there's always 30+ messages waiting for me. Often with no real purpose. 

Dr Karl of Neighbours
fame, snapped by me in
2011. Inexplicably, the
actor Alan Fletcher, signed
my autograph as Dr. KK.

Last week, amidst news of Dr. Karl Kennedy's UK tour, and the fact that Izzi from Gogglebox had had a baby (no, me neither) there was a nugget of equally important info shared with the group. Apparently it's been twenty years since Coldplay's Parachutes album was released. Yep. That's what I was told on WhatsApp. Then, to confound any surprise that this news may have brought, it was pointed out that 2050 is as far away from now as 1990 is. I know. Like I said, hotch potch. This factoid then started some chat about whether 1990 feels a long time ago or not. The jury's out depending on which WhatsApp group member you chat to.

I have a weird relationship with the nineties, in that I don't really think about it much at all. Obviously during that time, lots of things happened that are now classed as happy memories. But as a period of time in its own right, I let it pass me by when I'm in a reminiscing mood. This makes no sense considering my age. I was twelve in 1990, and twenty-one at the end of the decade. Everything of interest happened to me during that period, and yet when I think of my favourite decade, it's always the one before. The one that saw me go from two to twelve. The eighties were my era. At least in the way I view things, they were. The reality might be less clear cut.

My wish came true! It's just
a shame it was a fancy
 dress party in 2013.

When I think back to 'the past' and feel any sort of nostalgia, it's always eighties-based. The music, the clothes, the TV, the fact that I couldn't wait to grow up and leave the house like Madonna from Desperately Seeking Susan. Sadly my fashion plans didn't pan out. When I was old enough to dress like an 'adult' and fill my arm with bangles to the elbow, clothes had changed. It was all gothy black tights and DM boots. It was baggy jumpers over short A-line skirts. My dreams of multiple studded belts, black lace gloves, and a fluroescent headscarf holding back my perm, were dashed. It's the same with the news of the day too. When I think of world events in my youth, it's always the earlier ones I gravitate towards. The miners' strike, the Brighton bomb, Live Aid, AIDS, the Challenger disaster and the toppling of Thatcher. When I cast a historical news eye over the ten years that followed, I've got Cool Britannia, Blair, and not much else.*

What's that? Oh yeah. Excuse me, but it's just me forgetting how the brain works. It's just me and my dust-covered Psychology A Level being thick about memory and retention. It's just me forgetting all about the basic function of the hippocampus. You know, the bit that's concerned with memory and recall. Because, when I put my brain into gear and think about my brain for a second, I know that the reason I don't remember the nineties stuff quite so well is that I don't rehearse it. If I don't watch programmes like I Love the 90s every time they're broadcast then I don't rehearse what I remember from the time. If I don't play Oasis and Blur every minute of the day, then I'm not making links between that music and the events that were taking place when they were in the charts.  If I don't rehearse it, it's not in the conscious part of my brain. It's still there, but somewhere deep down. It takes more work to unearth.

Nineties Nicky

Last week, out of the blue, some unearthing took place. BBC2 started to repeat This Life, the house share drama about young lawyers that first aired in 1996. I watched it at the time, loved it, then forgot about it. More or less. I'd remember every so often. When Jason Hughes showed up as John Nettles' side kick in Midsomer years later, it took me a few episodes to stop calling him Warren. And whenever Andrew Lincoln appears in anything, I can only refer to him as Egg. But that's about it. As a show, I tend not to reminisce too much. I was lucky I had time to watch at all. I was busy in the nineties. It was all going off. There was high school and boys and the pub and periods and mates and men and jobs and Uni and house hunting. It was the eighties when I had all the time in the world to ingest and reflect on the events that would provide future nostalgia. In the nineties my time was taken up with all the living.

I'd really enjoyed This Life in 1996, though, so I set my planner. I figured it would be nice to revisit when I had a bit of spare time. I was in no rush. It was well over and we'd all moved on. I thought it might be worth a quick look though, when there was nothing else on. Wrong much? Absolutely. From the second I started to watch last week, it was like being on a rollercoaster. The emotional, gut-twisty, kind. The kind that makes your knuckles white and your stomach jump into your your month. All it took was the opening notes. The immediately familiar guitar riff burst through the screen and I was dragged back to being eighteen, irrespective of whether I wanted to be. The blatant nineties sound, coupled with the look of the whole thing was just so visceral. Everything was relatable. It was exactly like now but from the past. Everyone smoked. Everyone talked about sex. There was no Internet and no mobile phones. Not like now, anyway. Only one character had one - the drug-addicted Delilah, who was the obnoxious girlfriend of Miles. Her phone was like a historical exhibit from a telecoms museum.** Anna was still an utter legend (many reviews noted her influence on the character of Fleabag) and Miles was still a tit. Egg was still dreaming of wanting more and Milly was still uptight and hard to warm to. (IMHO). And then there was Warren. He was always my favourite deep down. I desperately wanted to be Anna but I was much more likely to go for a pint with Warren. Decades later, it was still the same. I felt old but I also felt like me. I had changed but I hadn't. I felt alive and raw as well as smug that I no longer had to hear flatmates shagging when I'm trying to sleep. Getting older isn't all bad, folks. Especially when you realise you've become the authentic older version of your younger self. It's reassuring even when it's weird to comprehend.

From Clockwise from left.
Warren, Miles, Anna, Egg, and Milly.
Click here for photo source.

I still love the eighties. But during the past week, thanks to This Life, I've allowed myself to dig deeper and do more unearthing. So, for anyone that is of a similar age or inclination, here's what comes to mind when I think of the nineties now...TFI Friday, the Brit Awards, Our Friends in the North, Madchester, Reef, The Big Breakfast, Brass Eye, Princess Diana, 'It's Coming Home', Friends, Alcopops, Dawson's Creek, Toploader... I could go on. The chances are, I will once you've stopped reading this. I'll find a shared playlist on Apple Music or I'll get Alexa on the case of finding an Greatest Hits of the Nineties album that can soundtrack the rest of my day.

1990. It's as far away from now as 2050. My brother said it felt like yesterday. My brother-in-law said it felt ages ago. I have mixed feelings. It did feel like ages ago, I think. Until I watched This Life again. Then I was confronted with my old self. My old self that feels like my current self except with no achy knee. I think that's the only difference. That and all the experience, wisdom and cynicism I've picked up along the way. So with that profound thought, I'll leave you to unearth your own stuff. I've got an album to listen to.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Obviously when I think for more than five minutes, I'm sure I can come up with loads more news from the nineties. Already I've remembered Italia '90 and the Euro '96. My point is that it trips off my tongue far easier when I'm thinking of my early years. 

** Yes, I said that as a joke, but it exists. If you're ever in the Milton Keynes area, pop in for all your historic telephonic needs.