Nostalgia isn't what it used to be (From Watford Observer)

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be

10:45am Monday 8th February 2010

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Recently, several things have conspired to confirm that I am definitely approaching Little Old Lady Land.

One minute I was skipping along merrily, convinced that I could easily be mistaken as a foxy extra from Sex and the City, next thing you know I’m browsing the Footglove range in M&S trying to find something sensible for work.

And do you know the worst thing? I actually found myself speculating about the bunion-comforting qualities of something from the wide-fit section.

Oh, the shame of it!

I’m not quite sure when I slipped from Kim Cattrall into Kim Woodburn, but I suspect it happened when I was lying at home on the sofa watching TV, fondly imagining myself to be a slinky New York fashion maven, while stuffing my face with Wotsits.

You’ll detect the chasm of self-delusion operating here. It’s the triumph of experience over hope.

But I’m not alone. If you are a female, 40-something, Watford Observer reader who can answer ‘yes’ to three or more of the following questions, you should be afraid. Be very afraid.

* Have you recently developed an interest in gardening?

* Do you find yourself prefacing sentences delivered to the teenage offspring of friends with the words: “When I was your age, I used to…..”?

* Does the prospect of a Saturday evening at home with a DVD, loved one, family-sized packet of tortilla chips and a bottle of Rioja sound much more appealing than the hassle of getting dressed up and going out?

* Have you got at least two pairs of high-tensile, tummy-taming pants in your knicker drawer?

* Do you read the nostalgia page of the Watford Observer with increasing interest each week?

Actually, the last of these is the killer. If you answered yes to that one then congratulations! Like me, you are definitely eligible to enter your name on the Little Old Lady Land bus pass waiting list.

Just last week I found myself reading about the Chef Corner restaurant in Watford’s Parade. Marie Davis’ recollections of owning and running the restaurant made me feel quite nostalgic about my own childhood.

When I was a toddler and my brother was still in a pushchair, the Chef was the place where, after a shopping trip to Fine Fare near the pond (and who remembers that now?), my mum would stop off for a cup of tea and a bun before the walk back to North Watford.

I was always allowed something deliciously sweet and sickly as a treat, partly to keep me quiet for a moment and partly to build up my energy levels for the trek back to Hatfield Road.

It was a bit of a jolt, I can tell you, to find myself reading about something that I actually experienced. Suddenly my 1960s childhood - which doesn’t seem that long ago - had segued into the category of ‘local history‘.

Another litmus test when it comes to showing your age is not only reading the stories on the nostalgia page, but skimming the questions, too.

Last week I found myself scanning the latest batch and was delighted to read the following: “What memories or photographs are there of Watford Springs?”

Considering that the late, but hardly lamented, Watford Springs was built and opened when I worked as reporter on this very newspaper, I have to say that I was quite surprised to see the multicoloured monstrosity already making an appearance in the nostalgia pages.

Especially as there can’t be many people out there who miss it!

My own, admittedly completely unsubstantiated, but strangely compelling, recollection of Watford Springs comes from a memory of a conversation I had many years ago with a friend whose boyfriend was an electrician on the site.

She told me that there were terrible teething problems down at the Springs (it hadn’t opened yet), mainly because it seemed that some of the building plans had been read upside down and nothing was where it was supposed to be.

Whether that’s true or not, I think you’ll agree that it’s an interesting memory?

At this point I’d like to ask my own pool-related nostalgia question: Does anyone reading this still have their ‘Watford Otter’ badge?

While rootling around in an old jewellery box last week I found my own highly-prized specimen - made from blue tin with a picture of an otter’s head in the middle. I think - I can’t be entirely sure here, so perhaps someone might correct me - that these badges were awarded to youngsters who managed to swim their first length of the junior pool at Watford Baths in Hempstead Road.

When I was about four years old my dad took me to Saturday morning swimming lessons in this miniature pool, where I graduated from rubber rings and float boards to the thrilling day when I was finally able to thrash out an inelegant length.

At the time, I felt as if I’d swum the Channel because the pool seemed dauntingly huge, but, actually, it can’t have been more than 20 feet long and three feet deep.

I just wonder how many others gained their water wings there?

Before closing the tattered pages of Watford past this week, I just like to leave you with this thought: it’s all very well reading about people and places that you remember on the nostalgia pages, but the real test of incipient crinkleydom comes when you open the newspaper and see a sepia-toned picture of yourself staring back at you.

Somewhere in the Watford Observer’s vast and echoing archive (okay, it’s really the microfiche system down at the Central Library, which is more space-efficient but not as romantic) there’s a photograph of me taking the leading role in the Harebrakes Nursery School production of Cinderella circa.1966/67.

I know it’s there because my grandmother, who attended that seminal performance, kept the clipping and, embarrassingly, insisted on showing it to people for the next 15 years or so.

Now, if that photograph ever appears on the nostalgia page, I’ll know that I’m officially ready for my first pair of Footglove wide fits.