Back to the Future

To say that I am film-obsessed is an understatement. Maybe not as much today as in my youth, but I put that down to the loss of Joan Rivers fronting Fashion Police on E! However, this year the Oscars came good for me in the form of Marty McFly. (And the envelope drama at the end, of course.)

6ab88d6bae68be7093cf431acb4a53ae

Part of the ‘Be Kind, Rewind’ generation, my childhood bedroom was plastered wall-to-wall with pictures of my heart-throb Michael J. Fox, plus guest appearances from Andrew McCarthy, C. Thomas Howell and Kirk Cameron.

I would sit for hours on my faux-hamburger bean bag, creating imaginary meetings and conversations.

images-1.jpeg

Hello, old friend

My Guy and Look-In were torn apart for pictures, lyrics to chart hits and snippets of information about celebrities. My filofax, (because apparently I worked and needed a filofax aged 11), was full of notes from friends, acknowledging my fully fledged addiction.

I cut my teeth on shows like Mork & Mindy, Family Ties, Growing Pains and Fresh Prince. I couldn’t get enough of American films too: The OutsidersPretty in PinkCan’t Buy Me Love, Mannequin, plus all the Back to the Futures. Okay, so the third BTTF wasn’t so great but I managed to go to the Premier and that was big news for my 15 year-old-self. Alas, the Fox wasn’t there. His aunt had died.

But if there was a million-dollar question along the lines of “in which year did BTTF3 Premier?”, I would know without hesitation the answer is 1990. I know this because I was 15 in 1990 when I went to the Premier. Great scott – I’m a genius.

That same year, Pretty Woman was released. Not only did I own the same yellow Sony walkman that Julia Roberts had in the bathtub scene, but I also had a Hunza dress, made from that crinkly swimming costume material of her street walker outfit. Admittedly mine was less short and hooker-y, with a satin puff-ball bit at the bottom and black velvet splatters all over it .

 

pretty-woman-bathtub-singing-prince-1461330940-list-handheld-0.jpg

I feel I’m truly torn between the old and the new. How can I resist my old favourites when they are aired? Bueno Sera Mrs Campbell, Calamity Jane, The Poseidon Adventure, Tootsie and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – the list goes on. For years, I dreamt of marrying Russ Tamblin until I realised he was Tom Thumb, but then swooned again when I discovered him as Riff in West Side Story.

Unknown-6.jpeg

“Now I know Tony like I know me…”

I also noted down in my Purple Ronnie diary that if I had a boy (with Michael J. Fox obvs), I would name him Caleb – after one of the seven brothers: Adam, Benjamin, Caleb, Daniel, Ephraim, Frank and Gideon. (nB. This was proudly typed with no help whatsoever from Google.)

SevenBridesSevenBrothers_04.jpg

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

 

The feeling of being transported back to something memorable is just the best. Much like a song can remind me of a film, they have also become the soundtrack to my life:

Firstborn (emergency C-section) – ‘I don’t feel like Dancing’ by Scissor Sisters was playing in the operating theatre, so I know the song was released in 2006.

Secondborn (elective C-section) – ‘I Gotta Feelin” by Black Eyed Peas, so I know this was a 2009 release. (I’m great on radio phone-ins for ‘name that year’.)

On my wedding day, I didn’t want a traditional wedding song played as I ‘step-together’d’ down the aisle. I say ‘I’ because if left to husband it would have been ‘Ossie’s Dream‘.

spurs-ossies-dream.jpeg

For me there was only one choice – ‘Moon River‘ from Breakfast at Tiffanys. My great Uncle Harry was the key chorist at Great Portland Street Synagogue and he sang so beautifully as I walked towards the tall, nervous man under the chuppah humming Ossie’s Dream.

A bit like the ‘useless’ knowledge Dev Patel picks up in Slumdog Millionaire, I can’t say that my memory has made me a millionaire, but I’ve checked, and the next episode of Mastermind features a specialist subject of Seinfeld. If they’re running with that, it can’t be long before I get my call to participate…

Unknown-5.jpeg

“In which year did Michael J Fox’s aunt die?

 

I Get So Emojinal…

When I was younger, I had the most phenomenal vision. My mum wore those old-school gas permeable contact lenses that would often fall off of the suction-tool when she was putting them in. Our deep-pile bathroom carpet (yup – 70s chic) was no match for my eagle eyes.

images

When I hit 16, I noticed that my vision was becoming hazy. At first I put it down to hay-fever but deep down I knew that something wasn’t quite right. After a few months of pretence, I told my parents that whatever it was, it was worsening and I was referred by my optician to an ophthalmic practice in Harley Street.

The verdict? I had cataracts.

Years of applying steroid cream to the eczema around my eyes had thinned my skin and had most likely been the cause. With a great deal of hand-holding from Joy, the most wonderful practice manager, I went ahead with the surgery and had great results.

Fast forward 25 years and I only really need glasses for heavy reading/computing, but I’m suddenly starting to feel really old. I used to have my finger on the pulse, but now have to consult my teenage nephews about words like ‘sick‘, ‘bare‘, ‘dabbing‘ and ‘peng‘.

I also used to think I was tech-savvy…(come on, type with me and reminisce)

Once there was a girl who was 13. She had an 84 inch bust but wanted a 35 inch bust so she went to her Doctors and he said, “Oh, take these pills 2x a day.” But instead, she took them 4 and ended up….(=)

img_7036

‘BOOBLESS’ – oh how we laughed as 14 year olds

My kids aren’t interested that I know the words to ‘Buffalo Stance’ and they flip straight back to Kiss 100 when I try to wow them with the delights of early rave tunes on pirate radio. The fact I can do my bra up behind my back no longer impresses them either.

I am baffled by bottle-flipping supremos and mesmerised by the genius of the mannequin challenge. I know it’s inevitable but I really don’t want to feel old. Here are some other things I don’t want:

I don’t want to experience RSI scrolling back on website drop-down menus, because my birth year is not instantly visible.

I don’t want to have to try multiple passwords because I’ve locked myself out of my numerous online accounts. (Upper or lower case always throws me.)

images-3

I don’t want to affectionately sign off texts with a ‘c’ when I’m trying to type an ‘x’.

I don’t want to have to wear my glasses more than I have to and I especially don’t want to increase my font size on my phone. People on the moon can see my friend typing her text messages.

images-1

I can’t see the expression on the little yellow emoji faces. On the plus-side, if you type tomato, a tomato appears. Cake and a cake appears. My favourite is ‘totes’ – type it and see…

 unknown-4unknown-5

If by miraculous luck, my blog hashtags have attracted emoji creative folk, I would appreciate a ‘whole chicken’ emoji, not just a chicken ‘leg’. And a raspberry emoji please. How is there a strawberry, a plum, a peach.. but no raspberry? It’s fruitist.

Talking of raspberries, some blog-appreciaters have asked for another recipe, so here is a raspberry one, given to me by an old colleague when I was stuck for an impressive but quick dessert.

‘A Waffley’ Good Dessert

img_7057

Including mint sprig for pro-finish

Ingredients:

6-pack of sweet waffles. Literally the cheapo ones from a Polski Sklep or other convenience store. (I have never typed ‘Polski Sklep’ before)

120g Milky Bar – go basic. I tried it with Green & Blacks white chocolate and it wasn’t as good

idshot_225x225

1 large egg

300ml single cream

300g fresh or frozen raspberries (frozen are better value out of season)

Method:

Preheat oven to 180˚C.

Take a deep ovenproof dish about 23cm long and lightly grease with butter.

Break up the waffles and place in dish, then ‘hide’ the chunks of Milky Bar evenly amongst the waffles.

Whisk the egg and cream so it’s all foamy and pour all over the waffles. Let it ‘steep’ for 10 minutes.

Top with raspberries and place in oven for 25-30 mins.

Remove.

Dab, because you’ve produced an impressive dessert with minimal effort.

unknown-9