A couple of weeks ago I was watching
a documentary on Channel Four called 'Wild Things' about a commune that was started in London in the 1970s, where the adults decided to raise their children collectively and allow them to be 'wild and free'. Rather than be given their father's surname, the children were all given a new surname: Wild. The people in the commune and the idea spread to other parts of the country and the documentary went in search of some of these now grown-up children who share no biological bond but have the same last name. About half way through the programme, I was quite surprised to hear the name of a boy I went to school with: he has an unusual first name and the surname Wild. They showed a photo of him and I immediately recognised him as a boy I had a slight crush on at the age of 16/17 and who occasionally hung around with my group of friends. I had no idea at the time that he grew up in a commune, never even imagined there could be such places in boring old Leeds. It made me wish I had got to know him a bit better but mostly it challenged my assumption that everyone I grew up with was living in a 'typical' or 'normal' family such as my own.
Then about a week ago, a Facebook friend mentioned that she was going to be on the
Fourth Plinth and asked everyone to watch and cheer her on. The Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square is an area normally reserved for statues of kings and generals. The sculptor, Antony Gormley has asked people across the UK to occupy this empty space as a way of creating 'a living monument'. Every hour, 24 hours a day, for 100 days without a break, different people will occupy the Plinth. They must be alone and can do anything they want as long as it is legal (there goes my plan to sit up there with a huge spliff). Participants are picked randomly from a draw, there are 2400 places and there have been over 29,000 applicants. The project has received quite a lot of attention and a fair bit of criticism as yet another form of reality TV. Anyway, you can watch my friend
here. It was strange watching someone I remember from my 'A' level History class as being a bookish type, now all blonde and glam and singing in such a public place.
My final blast from the past took place last Friday at the funeral of the husband of one of my mum's closest friends. Mum had told me a couple of years ago that my ex-boyfriend, Bald Man, was now going out with her friend's sister but I had never given it much thought, especially as living in Australia there was no chance of us bumping into each other. But he was the first person I saw at the funeral and so many awkward memories flashed through my mind. The over-riding memory was our Date From Hell when we were in a pub and I started having an allergic reaction to some medication I was taking at the time. I rushed to the toilet and when I came out was slurring my words with half my face all droopy and weird and I had to go to hospital. Anyway, the funeral was very sad but between bouts of crying there were other memories that flashed into my head, like Bald Man and I in bed together. And even though my mind screamed 'NO, NOT NOW MEMORY PLEASE', they were hard to stop.
Anyway, at least two out of three of my blasts from the past were interesting/enjoyable. Now I'm back living where I grew up there is always the fear of bumping into former classmates, people I dated or worked with. The most simple trip to the supermarket, library or gym has the potential for awkward impromptu meetings, and I wonder what it would be like to live in a really small town where everyone knows your bidness. I also wonder what it would be like to enjoy it, the comfort and security of being surrounded by people you know and grew up with. It's never going to be something I feel: I will always prefer the anonymity of big cities and new countries.
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