Sunday, April 03, 2011  

The constant promise of jam tomorrow

I remember bunting strung along the street like a red, white and blue snake. I remember everyone lining up their tables and chairs in the middle of Acresfield Road, and filling them with sandwiches, pies, crisps, trifle and as much pop as you get down your neck. I remember a huge barrel of beer in our shed, and all the dads wandering up our garden for a refill. I remember sneaking half a pint when no one was looking. I remember the games on the Bay Horse car park and the singing and dancing into the night. The Queen’s silver jubilee, I was eleven and I knew everyone on our road.

We have lived here for ten years and I’m 45, we only have friends in our flats, we only know other people just as nodding acquaintances. I can’t see our road having a party for the upcoming wedding. Not that I really give much of a toss about the nuptials, but the breakdown of our society is very sad. I actually started with another line from that song as the title, nostalgia is an opium and I’m aware I have probably just taken a fucking big toke, but I’m pretty sure we’ll never see that kind of community again. Don’t get me wrong, we had some great arguments on our street in those days, there were people who hated each other, but the kids weren’t affected and all was forgotten for the party.

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

A E Housman.

| posted by Simon | 10:41 pm | 0 comments
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