Nostalgia is a funny beast. Somehow, with a little time and space, all that's gone before seems a little less rough around the edges. Sure, He had the inexcusable penchant of playing his Bananarama CDs without either shame or irony (or indeed, recourse to the 'reduce volume' button), but he also smelt nice whenever you went out together. She spoke with a voice that had a lot in common with an angle grinder, but she remembered your Mum's birthday, and bought lovely presents which you were allowed to take credit for. With nostalgia in play, these attributes suddenly seem worth revisiting. Except for the fact that the reality would be rite back to the place of Bananarama and angle grinders.
It's best summed up by Harriet the Hottie - she's both gorgeous and clever, leading me to ask, Why remain friends with such a person? I mean, apart fm having it reinforce my own glowing sense of mediocrity?
Because she's 100% freakin' awesome, and can, without prompting, bestow such gems as:
It'd be like if Angela Merkel was offered the opportunity to establish a German military base in Stalingrad. She'd totally say yes, if just to revisit the good old days...
Pure. Freakin'. Gold.
* A nod to David Sedaris - he comes up with the genius, I merely steal and degrade it.
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1 comment:
All writing is theft. Good old Dave would tip his hat at that.
Whoever this Banananananarama loving freak-person may be - you never go back. Believe me - in the glow of morning sunlight or the glow of your fourth red, it seems like a good idea - but like the sun, you'll get burnt and like the red, you'll wake up with a head like a Frenchman's living in it with the distinct taste of ashtray in your mouth and wonder what the hell you were thinking.
Coming from the voice of experience - going back usually ends in tears - yours, theirs and/or the neighbours.
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