A pernicious little email that has made the rounds of my inbox more times than I care to remember, proclaims that one of the signs of impending middle age is the clichéd lament for the time of one’s youth, when everything was bigger, better (not to mention cheaper), and altogether more gratifying than they appear to be now.
By this standard, I’m afraid I’m definitely teetering on the brink of a midlife crisis. Just the other night, around a braai and a couple of glasses of red wine, I found myself holding forth on the small but significant joys of my childhood, all now so sadly gone (or much diminished): humungous Chappie bubblegums (complete with really interesting bits of trivial information on the inside of the wrapper – hey, this was before Google and Wikipedia 
) that you could chew on forever before their sweetness faded, jaw-defying Wilson toffees that could rid one of a milk tooth oh-so-sweetly, Chomps so big that a baby hippo couldn’t get it’s mouth around them, and Lifesavers – those fruity little tongue-teasers with the hole in the middle that you could suck and play with just as long as you could hold out before the impulse to just crunch it up and pop the next one in your mouth became overpowering...
) that you could chew on forever before their sweetness faded, jaw-defying Wilson toffees that could rid one of a milk tooth oh-so-sweetly, Chomps so big that a baby hippo couldn’t get it’s mouth around them, and Lifesavers – those fruity little tongue-teasers with the hole in the middle that you could suck and play with just as long as you could hold out before the impulse to just crunch it up and pop the next one in your mouth became overpowering...Now when I was small, and Christmas trees were really tall, I enjoyed significant exposure to the music of the day (you noticed?!), thanks to my much older siblings. My sister’s tastes ran to folk and popular music, while my brother and father had many a memorable fight pertaining to the former’s loving devotion to his psychedelic and glam rock collection, which he liked to turn way up in his bedroom with the door locked... Anyhow, my sister used to play guitar and sing, and many of the folk anthems of the 60’s and 70’s were permanently burned into my pre-school brain through listening to her singing them, over and over again. So it was with a melancholy, anti-war song from the early ‘60’s, made popular by an outfit called Peter, Paul and Mary (must have hugely increased their anti-establishment cred)!, called “Where have all the flowers gone?” It’s a long song, a sad song, a very repetitive song – which might explain why it got so deeply lodged in my memory. (And if you’ve never heard it, then you might as well stop reading now, because you’re simply not near enough to middle age to understand where I’m coming from. And besides, what follows is probably not age-appropriate for you anyway.)
But back to our braai. At the mention of Lifesavers, my partner remembered an old joke, which of course didn’t prevent him from telling it. On the off-chance that you don’t know it, it goes like this:
Mr and Mrs Green were having some trouble getting it together in the bedroom, and finally agreed to consult a sex therapist. After carefully considering their case and viewing it from every angle, so to speak, the therapist gave them the following advice: “On your way home this afternoon, buy a box of ring doughnuts and some grapes. Then, this evening, take off your clothes and sit down on the floor, across from each other. Mrs Green, you must try to fling the doughnuts over your husband’s love pole, and when you’re done, eat them off him. Mr Green, you must try to toss the grapes into your wife’s love canal, and when you’re done, get them out with our tongue...”
Mr and Mrs Green did what the therapist said and soon they were steaming things up in the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen...
So when Mrs Green’s friend, Mrs White, confided to her that Mr White’s and her sex life was also far from satisfactory, Mrs Green didn’t hesitate to enthusiastically recommend the same therapist. Mr and Mrs White went to see him straight away, but to their dismay, after a short examination of the facts, the good doctor advised them that there was nothing he could do for them. However, after much protesting and pleading from the desperate couple, the doctor finally caved and gave them this advice: “On your way home this afternoon, buy a roll of Lifesavers and a bag of oranges...”
I chuckled at the familiar punch line as I pictured the incongruous scene in my mind’s eye. But familiarity breeds contempt (or perhaps I’d had one too many glass of wine) and as I watched, the picture changed into a Gerald Scarfe-type animation: Mrs White turned into a grotesquely predatory caricature suspended threateningly over Mr White’s exposed, vulnerable, prostrate form, impotent in every sense, cavernous mouth opening ever wider, jaws working, ready to devour him whole... And all this violence playing out in surreal counterpoint to the sorrowful strains of that sad old song from the '60's.
So where have all the Lifesavers gone? You guessed it: Mrs White ate them, every one..! Like so many things that we held near and dear and right in the time of my innocence, they were tainted and twisted by Mr and Mrs White and their greedy and perverted view of the world and their (rightful) place in it. And all we’re left with is the mess they made and a wistful yearning for a time when we didn’t know everything we now know. When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
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written by Dissol, November 24, 2009
Ah! DBS hits the chord; it is not just an overall lament of youth, it is a shared lament... You can find this out by moving country...and then (as DBS & I have discovered!), you suddenly find someone who has the same shared memories as you do. It may be a sweet (I found Curly Wurlies, and Sherbet Fountains recently in SA). Or a TV show (it's Friday, it's 5 to 5, and its Crackerjack time!), or a song...group...concert...even genre. Being a teenager in the UK in 1977 was special as punk broke out! My kids can't quite come to terms with my Clash collection...
Then you realise that it is nostalgia, not that things were better in those days...but that we were younger, and more able (and less worried, and no responsibilities). Things weren't 'better', society has moved forward, we are missing our youth, not the a*sociations of that time...
The politicians were still corrupt, prices were still rising, our enjoyment came from different things...it is wrong to a*sume that they were 'better' they were not better...just different.
:zzz
Then you realise that it is nostalgia, not that things were better in those days...but that we were younger, and more able (and less worried, and no responsibilities). Things weren't 'better', society has moved forward, we are missing our youth, not the a*sociations of that time...
The politicians were still corrupt, prices were still rising, our enjoyment came from different things...it is wrong to a*sume that they were 'better' they were not better...just different.
:zzz
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written by DBS, November 25, 2009
For those that did not have a UK yout Crackerjack time was a program for kids hosted if I remember by Leslie Crowther It was the must watch program of the week or was that Blue Peter on a Monday or Dr. Who on a Saturday but let us not forget top of the pops with Jimmy Saville at 7:30pm on a Thursday
All good memories that would have gone well with a lifesaver or a polo and this comment has little to do with the brilliant post. But then maybe it sparks some inspiration in me or others
All good memories that would have gone well with a lifesaver or a polo and this comment has little to do with the brilliant post. But then maybe it sparks some inspiration in me or others
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As for lifesavers not seen them in years. In the UK they still have Polo mints same shape but not fruit flavours obviously. Now let me get back to cla*sifying my 78RPM records