And thus I have found myself in Warwickshire again. As I headed up to Warwick hospital on Friday my route to my father's was not the normal Cotswold spin but a more Westerley trek. New road signs, new memories. It was thirty years ago today...
It was a warm summer the year I left school. a summer of drinking, girls, parties, smoking and behaving as if there was no tomorrow. A university place already secured with a 2E offer, it was just a time to have fun. We were a privileged lot in that most of us had cars and so heading out anywhere from the villages in the Birmingham suburbs right down to those on the Oxfordshire borders was not an issue - but living in the heart of Leamington, it was just a short stagger to the fleshspots that were the Birch, the Bakers or that poncey wine bar on the parade whose name I forget. When heading to the villages we drove with the recklessness of youth - fast and not always completely under the alcohol limit
As I have driven around the area in recent days and weeks I see a sign and, like one of those little flags on a google map, a name pops up. Dorridge - that would be Ian Murphy and Mike Gillies. Balsall Common - Rich Postins. Radford Semele - Claire Willington. Gosh she was stunning. I remember the non Toga party with Mark Hobbs and burst out laughing. Tysoe - Very cute Sam, as in Samantha, Jones, Kineton - Lizzie and her posh pal Toria from Leamington. I think back to happily carefree times in Tysoe one evening: Vicki Whale and her stunning friend Noddy . Why was she called Noddy? I really cant remember - was her real name Helen? Brian Schwieger - now a heavy hitter at the Stock Exchange and very respectable. It was not always that way. Solihull - that would be Stu Piper. The names keep popping up.
I know that Ian might be reading this and I spoke to Rich by email a few months ago. He is still working in Warwick as an evil PR man and, as I drive through the town, remembering lunch breaks in St Nicholas' Park with girls from King's High and ten packs of Bensons, I wonder where he works?
The truth is that Ive lost contact with nearly everyone. If we met again we would not be thin. Our hair would be greying or disappearing. Well not that of Rich Postins, his was mostly disappeared 30 years ago, he must be bald as a coot by now. We must all have our burdens, there could be no recapturing of that carefree joy.
Back then we laughed at Mr P, sitting on the stairs of his house with a shotgun, to separate girls and boys after a party got out of hand. If he thought he was protecting his daughter's innocence he was sadly mistaken. These days I worry about my daughter getting a boyfriend and can see exactly where Mr P was coming from. He was just a responsible and sensible parent, even if that gun was in fact loaded. Back then we all smoked as if there was no tomorrow with Mark Hobbs rasping for England. Rich tells me that the old hypocrite now berates his 13 year old for having an illicit Marlboro light. How times have changed.
I think of those day and those people very little for, until recently, I have not spent that much time in Warwickshire. But the memory is now well and truly jogged. But there's no real time to look back. It is pointless and the present is far too time consuming.