Nostaliga

I’m smoking.

And on a blast from my best past. My teenage years. Despite the traumas they are still the best years of my life. No responsibilities. A bit of cash between pocket money and babysitting at the beginning, to a Saturday job in estate agency by the time I was 16. Lack of regulations for drink meant buying alcohol to take to the park was easy. Going into pubs was allowed. Going into pubs and getting served depended on the pub but it was possible if you knew people and knew where to go.

Fond memories of a Chinese takeaway spot in Southampton, that used it’s upstairs space as an underage club sometimes. They never advertised. Yet whenever I heard of one and ended up there, it was packed. One night the police turned up and I experienced my first evacuation.

The rave club down by the docs that got away with it by making it so dark you couldn’t tell who was stood in front of you. If they couldn’t tell, they weren’t liable. The council insisted on torches after MANY raids (where the police turned up but nobody was turned away because they claimed ignorance) but with girls and guys wearing bold colourful makeup as per the trends at the time, with paled faces and block coloured hair, it was easy to look as old as your cheap fake ID said you were.

The years of just walking around town. Drinks in dingey pubs were cheap, there were free pool tables. The music covered the nu metal, grunge and drum n bass genres. There was somebody I’d met somewhere. I went through friends quickly. Making one sort of best buddy, hanging around with them until I became buddies with one of their friends and moved onto them. I couldn’t tell you half of their names now.

My obsessions with America, my first forays into the unknown world out there. My interest in lifestyles I hadn’t experienced before, so far away from how I grew up. I often wondered why some people wanted to experience new lives and others didn’t.

I remember this sort of nostalgic feeling coming on before. The last time was at B’s, the one before after I broke up with M. Only those times, it hit me like a stab to the stomach. Now its a pang. But a good pang. A comfortable memory that I enjoy. Do I feel like I’d like to be back there? Of course, but only the way anyone looks back fondly on good times.