My present lifestyle falls safely within the middle-class realm, despite its humble beginnings. I recall my early days in a modest flat in Willesden, London. This flat, occupying the upper level of a petite house, was home to my sister and me, and had to accommodate not only our shared bedroom, but also our kitchen essentials, dining chairs and table, a petite sofa, and a monochrome television all within the main space. The bathroom facilities were just an outdoor lean-to in the garden, and our bathing routine involved a plastic tub. The methods of cleanliness my parents employed still evade me.
Our circumstances, undeniably working-class, slowly improved due to the exertion of stern determination and tireless labour. However, the socioeconomic status of my father’s background was even less distinct.
Reflections of this came upon me during a recent trip to Edinburgh, his birthplace. I found myself reminiscing while staying at a Travelodge located near the infamous Royal Mile –the backdrop of his earliest memories. Their dwelling was a basement situated in Tron Square, notorious in the past for its filth and unruliness. A significant memory, which he shared much later in his adult life, was of his mother carrying a stillborn baby home in a cardboard box. This box was simply placed on a chest of drawers; the fate of the box and its contents remain unknown to him. Sad and shocking though it may be, additional siblings were lost in a similar fashion.
My annual sojourn in Edinburgh was spent with long-standing friends, during which, invariably, the topic veers towards the relentless passage of time and the transformations it imposes – much like it did on my father.
While walking around Tron Square, I wondered how my now-deceased father would perceive his old neighbourhood. Once a notoriously sordid spot, it now boasts niche bars, trendy retail stores, and a comedic entertainment club, bearing no resemblance to the former squalor that was Tron Square. It felt like a blatant dismissal of his past – as though, his version of Tron Square was overwritten and erased. However, I am certain that he, in his pragmatism, would dispassionately accept the changes and focus on the present.
To my amazement, Self-importance seems to be a common trait among many Independent politicians. My latest escapade with paternal leave has led to surprising revelations. My incursions into mindless online disputes have often turned into regrets – but what makes me return to it, time and again? I belong to the generation where the possession of a toolbox was an inherent part of manhood.
As part of our yearly tradition, my close-knit group of longtime friends and I ventured out on our annual journey to Edinburgh. Here, we relished in shared companionship while contemplating the effects of passing time and alterations on our lives, much like our father’s generations before us.
Naturally, our chats veered towards our offspring and the disparate yet cohesive tapestry of their lives compared to ours at a parallel age. Their growth brings with it a spectrum of emotions, much like we once faced. The difference, however, lies in the significance and understanding these emotions are awarded in their era. Concepts like nervous tension take a prominent stand in their lives, with the psychological terminology aiding them in comprehending their experiences. On the contrary, the narrative of our generation was devoid of such mental health discourse. We treated discomfort as an inevitable hurdle of existence and dealt with it head-on, sometimes to our advantage and other times to our loss. The potential harm was conveniently ignored or outright denied.
We found ourselves at a Jools Holland concert that evening surrounded by faces resembling our age group. As much as we related to them and unlike their children, this was a generation that didn’t introspect too much on themselves. One could argue that their constant awareness could somewhat exaggerate the concept of nervous discomfort into an unbeatable beast. In the end, we all had our uncertainties about which lifestyle was preferable.
We were enthralled with the performance that night, particularly captivated by a specific tune played during the encore, ‘Enjoy Yourself’. I later found out that it was a major hit for The Specials in 1980. Originally, this song was released by Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians in 1949 under the title ‘Enjoy Yourself (It’s Later Than You Think)’.
This song encapsulates a message of mindfulness in its title, a lesson probably only appreciated with maturity and the increased value assigned to time. It serves as a reminder that over contemplation can often act as a barrier to pure enjoyment.