Space hoppers in the garden, Findus crispy pancakes for tea, Danger Mouse on the telly. Going to school in leg warmers, watching Fame and singing along to 'Starmaker'. Simon Le Bon or John Taylor? Ditching pop for The Smiths and The Cure, then being totally torn when it all went aciiiiiiied as how can you be in two 'tribes' at once? Fortunately Primal Scream and the Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses made it all ok, and indie/dance-y club nights became the melting pots that meshed us all together, along with a bag of mushrooms, some LSD and a few Es... are good, he's Ebeneezer Goode..
Uni days, full grant. Student bedrooms with tie-dye wall hangings, the floor littered with club flyers, rizlas, last week's Melody Maker and empty cans of Special Brew. Getting ready to go out... Nirvana, Suede, Dinosaur Jr, Verve, New Order, Saint Etienne on the stereo... piling into a bar and necking back endless bottles of Two Dogs, quick scan of the room to see who you might try and pull, make eye contact with the one who looked a bit like Bernard Butler, ask him for a light while looking up at him from beneath heavily mascara'd eyes. A few more rounds, then you're snogging in the club, the lights come on and you realise you may have had your beer goggles on, but in for a penny in for a pound - the night bus home to one-night-stand-central is leaving in 5 minutes so you might as well. Key in the door, make a face at your flatmates before heading to your room and lighting some incense, rolling a joint, and hoping he has a condom.
Uni is done, it's real life, get a job time now. Crappy houseshares for a good few years, but it's the middle of the 90s and life is a-mazing. Pay £6.50 to go and see Oasis at the New Cross Venue, £32.50 for the 3-day Reading Festival. Britpop is in full swing, the Thatcher/Major era is finally on its last legs, there is something in the air. Feels a bit like optimism? The middle-decade passes in a haze of hedonism.
How the hell are we now in our late 20s? The century (the millennium, even) is drawing to a close and we're not sure if the world's about to spontaneously combust at the stroke of midnight. Feeling a bit tired of rooms in shared houses now, could do with my own space. Can't really afford it living in London, but what if I moved a bit further away and commuted in? Maybe by the sea? I mean I only earn £16k per year, but there are flats for less than £50k down there and I can get a mortgage for 3.5x my salary so I'm laughing. I'm in the new pad by the end of the decade, with enough left over for a Habitat sofa and one of those CD players where you can burn your own CD. Am I finally grown up now? I don't want to be, but it's the 2000s, I'm pushing 30, and - what the hell - some of my friends are talking babies. Definitely the end of an era. Sob.