The Meaning of Life - Time After Time

You will be pleased to know that this is the last post in the current series mirroring Karl Pilkington’s “The Moaning of Life”.

I think that this post needs a soundtrack – so here’s a good song to listen to while reading it.

Three weeks ago, I had a university reunion in Liverpool, the first one for twelve years and this included a man I hadn’t seen since leaving university in 1984, over thirty years ago.

Initially it was a surreal experience, seeing a bunch of blokes that I had been so close to. When I first met these guys I was 19 years old and, being young men, we were all desperate to make our mark on the world with a cocktail of alcohol, stupidity and a general sense of indestructibility that meant we were willing to do anything.

Of course, by the end of university we had matured slightly and were more prepared for life.

The problem is that when we all got together between 1981 and 1984, we did all of the stupid things that young men do.

Fast forward to a cold and rainy lunchtime November in 2015 at Lime Street Railway station in Liverpool.

I arrived first on a local train from Manchester and clutching a steaming coffee, I awaited the intercity train from London. Two of the guys got off the train and I recognised them immediately, a little greyer and a little chubbier but still the same guys I knew so well. I’ll call them Sam and Colin (to protect the guilty!).

We were expecting two more later, one from Birmingham and one from Liverpool  - this was the guy I hadn’t seen for over thirty years. I’ll call them Oscar and Andy (again to protect the guilty!).

Sam, Colin and I decided to be tourists and explore the city. I have been back to Liverpool often; after all it is only about 35 miles from Manchester. Sam married a Scouser (person from Liverpool) and he came back fairly regularly to visit family.

Colin had not been back to Liverpool since he left in 1984.

Oscar turned up an hour later. He had lost his hair completely apart from some grey bits at the sides. We didn't mention it.

The four of us spent the afternoon visiting the Tate museum, to avoid the heavy rain before having an afternoon snack in a coffee shop where we chatting about what we had all been up to, including, jobs, family, kids etc. over cups of coffee and tea. It was all very sophisticated.

We checked into our hotel and, as I was unpacking and freshening up for a mice meal, I was struck by one thing. Thirty years ago we were like rampant animals making fools of ourselves and acting as if we were indestructible.

Now, the four of us were talking about careers and kids, visiting museums and being totally sensible.

I felt a little sad; it was almost like being out with their dads.

Shortly afterwards, Andy rang and we arranged to meet him in a city centre pub that we had frequented as students.

It was still there and hadn't disappeared like a lot of the pubs from that time.

Andy turned up and he too hadn’t changed. It was really strange chatting to a guy I hadn’t seen for so long.

I looked at my watch as I supped that first beer. The time was six o’clock.

And this was the point that the sensibility disappeared.

“One more?” 

“Yeah – one more!”

Before I knew it, the alcohol had woken something up inside of all of us. We were sensible enough to find a restaurant but that’s about it. The rest of the evening descended into party time as five middle aged men wandered around the city centre, refuelling on beer, and becoming more and more boisterous. As more alcohol was imbibed, the years were stripped away and we became five young men again.  The dads were gone and my mates from the early 1980's were back.

I loved every second of it.

Tales of old were told and we guffawed like teenagers as we recalled the scrapes we got into all those years ago. Oscar's lack of hair was the main topic of raucous conversation for about twenty minutes. Don't worry - he gave as good as he got.

Thankfully, our ageing bodies protested enough to keep us in check – or at least I thought they had. We had wobbled out of the famous Cavern Club, where the Beatles used to entertain the Liverpool crowds, and into an Irish bar and somehow found a table where we could sit down. Before long, a barman came over and told us that the pub was closing. I checked my watch.

“It’s three in morning!” I yelled, although I think the words came out as “Ish three clocksh!”

We staggered back to the hotel and again I was saved by my body urging me to quaff as much water as my stomach could take before going to bed.

The next morning, we met for a late breakfast and, all a little fragile, made a pact to do exactly the same next year.

The whole episode made me think about time.

Although our bodies age around us, the deep inner core of our being remains. As we get older, our outlook on life changes but deep down inside all of us, the young person who wanted to unleash himself on the world, with a seemingly unlimited amount of energy, who existed all those years ago is still there.

The fire of my youth is definitely still  present under the sensible old git that I have become – and I’m delighted about that.

I can find him and I intend to take him out every so often for a breath of fresh air (though perhaps next time I will avoid using alcohol as the transport mechanism).

We can’t win the war against time – but we can win the odd battle - and have massive fun with our small victories.

How about you, dear reader?

Is there a young version of you hiding inside you?

Can you find him or her?

If so, how do you do it?

The Time Traveller's Meme

It’s been a month or so since I attempted a meme, so I thought I’d have a bash at the Time Traveller meme from Sunday Stealing .

This is a short meme but quite an interesting one.

Here goes:

1. Depending on your age, go back 10, 15, 20, or even more years.

2. Tell us how many years back you have traveled and why.

3. Pretend you have met yourself during that era, and tell us where you are.

4. You only have one "date" with this former self.

5. Answer these questions.

Okay, as we start, what year is it and how old are you?

I have travelled back in time to October 1981 and I am just about to start university. I am just about to turn 19.

1. Would your younger self (YYS, from here) recognize you when you first meet?

Actually, my appearance might freak MYS out. Before you ask, this is not because he thinks he is an Adonis and I am clearly not. He would be freaked out because he would think that I am his dad (who incidentally died about a month earlier at the tender age of 44). I recently saw a photo of my dad when a year before he died and the resemblance was uncanny, even down to the sideburns. His hair was a little wavier than mine and more controllable but apart from that facially the image of my father is almost like looking in a mirror. MYS would probably stare at me and, because he was shy, he would stutter uncontrollably.

2. Would YYS be surprised to discover what you are doing job wise?

At that age I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. I was very good at maths but realised that maths wasn’t exactly going to be a career. I chose Computational and Statistical Science as a degree in the hope that the booming computer industry would prove interesting and keep me in a job for life. So far it has, and while I still work in IT, the nature of my work demands more than just that knowledge. I imagine therefore that MYS would not be surprised that I spend my day bollocking computers, but he would be surprised at the application I work with, the travelling that I have done and the involvement I have had in other fields.

3. What piece of fashion advice would you give YYS?

Grow your hair long, buy a leather jacket and bow down to the Monsters of Rock. Do not become a New Romantic just to impress the girls; they won’t be impressed and your hair simply doesn’t lend itself to that style – you will look like a goon.

4. What do you think YYS is most going to want to know?

MYS would have been obsessed with sex and would want to know whether I was married or not.

5. How would you answer YYS's question?

That’s a tricky one really because, as regular readers might know, I married and then divorced. I would tell him that I was married but I wouldn’t want him to do anything differently, simply because, although it failed, the marriage did have positives that I simply cannot live without - for example: my boys.

6. What would probably be the best thing to tell YYS?

I would tell him about all of the wonderful places I have seen and how good life is. I would tell him to avoid tall buildings though.

7. What is something that you probably wouldn't tell YYS?

I wouldn’t tell him about all my failures with the opposite sex (though I might warn him about the woman who tore out my heart and fed it to her pet lion in 1984).

8. What do you think will most surprise YYS about you?

MYS would be amazed that I still look young for my age and that I am still as immature now as I was then . He would also be amazed that I am no longer the insecure shy fool I was then.

9. What do you think will least surprise YYS?

That I can still be an absolute dolt when I want to be.

10. At this point in your life, would YYS like to run into "you" from the future?

Yes I think I would – preferably a future me that was 100 years old.