They passed by a couple of pubs on the way, old favouritesof Kent’s that were long gone. One had been turned into a Thai restaurant, muchto his disgust. Being an old school meat and potatoes sort of man, he hated Thaifood. Why couldn’t they have made it into something he would have liked? Mostof his life he had lived in this town and still no one had ever opened a steakhouse.It was all Thai this and Italian that.
The other pub had been turned into a nail bar, anothermodern abomination. It was fantastic to see them back in their original form, TheRose and Crown in all its spit and sawdust glory, and The Railway Arms, where heused to sneak in underage for a half of cider and a chip butty on Saturday lunchtimes.Those were the days, racing on a portable telly on the bar and a couple of quidin the £6 jackpot fruit machines. Happy days they had been, too. They were easytimes to live in – before he had joined the police and before he had gotmarried.
He quite fancied popping in right now for a pint, but then rememberedthat he couldn’t. He was only seven years old. Although The Railway Arms had ahuge reputation for underage drinking, located handily near the localcomprehensive school as it was, even they had to draw the line somewhere.Perhaps he could come back later as a teenager and call in for a pint.
It was interesting that he fancied a pint. He may have beenin the body of a seven-year-old, but clearly his mind was still very much thatof his older self. That contrasted with his experience at breakfast when it haddefinitely been his body telling him he was hungry. He knew he certainly wouldn’thave been interested in beer at the age of seven. He had a vague memory of an irresponsibleolder cousin giving him some bottled French lager behind the marquee at afamily wedding when he was about nine. He had spat it out in disgust. It was ataste he would not acquire until his mid-teens.
It seemed there was no clear-cut answer to whether he washis seven-year-old self or his forty-two-year-old self. It seemed as if he had becomean amalgam of the two. He would just have to deal with his mind and body’sreactions to each situation as and when it arose. He definitely wouldn’t bedrinking any beer, though. Even if he could obtain any and even if his mind wastelling him he wanted it, he was pretty sure his seven-year-old body wouldn’tbe able to handle it.
Onwards they went into town, in the days before the High Streetwas pedestrianised. Back then, cars would crawl up and down looking for aparking space, beeping their horns in a cacophony of noise and leaded petrolfumes. It all contributed to a very busy and bustling town centre scene, farlivelier than Kent could ever remember seeing it.
The street was full of long gone shops. These included an ironmonger’sshop, a haberdashery store, three butchers, a greengrocer’s, two shoe shops, a bicycleshop and a toyshop. They passed by all of these as they headed towards theirdestination at the far end of the street – good old Woolies.
There was also a modest Fine Fare supermarket, the only shopof its kind in town. The huge hypermarkets of Tesco and Sainsbury’s were yet toreach what back then was still very much an independent little town, full of familybusinesses and full of character.
It was a far cry from the High Street that Kent was familiarwith in 2018. The modern version was a mix of coffee shop chains, charity shops,nail bars and estate agents. A few of the old national chains like WHSmith andBoots were still around, but not many. All of the independent shops were longgone.
Comparing the two, Kent had to conclude that he liked the1984 version a lot better.
“Stop here for a minute,” said Annie, pausing by the redpostbox outside Boots, a familiar landmark still present in 2018. “I just wantto post my letter.” She had been jabbering on about Jim’ll Fix It allthe way into town but Kent had not been particularly responsive. He was too inawe of his surroundings, trying to take it all in.
She posted her letter, turned to him and said, “Right, let’sget down to Woolworths, then. This is a big day for you, buying your firstsingle. Are you still going to buy the Nena one?”
Kent winced at the thought. He remembered now, he had bought“99 Red Balloons”. This had led him to tell a blatant lie a decade or so later.The topic of “what was the first record you ever bought?” had come up inconversation with his mates. They had all claimed to have bought really cool tracksby bands like Motörhead or The Stranglers. He didn’t dare mention “99 Red Balloons”,so he had claimed a track from The Clash instead.
No one had questioned it at the time, even though the song hadactually come out two years earlier when he would have been only five, whichwas suspiciously young to have been buying a first single. Over the years he hadstuck to this story. Eventually he had even convinced himself, implanting thefalse memory that he really had bought “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” as hisfirst single. He had forgotten all about Nena, until now, so Annie’s question hadcome as a shock.
Now he came to ponder the subject, he wondered about all thecool first singles his mates had claimed they had bought and whether they hadbeen lying as well. You couldn’t equate how you felt about music at eighteenwith how you felt about it at seven. He couldn’t remember why he’d bought Nena’ssingle. He could only assume that in his innocent, young mind, not yet swayedby peer pressure, he’d liked it.
He
