Stoop Kid
When I was a kid, we lived on a council estate. (On the ‘good’ side, apparently. There were parts of it that my Mum wouldn’t let me go near. She also wouldn’t let me go near the woods on my own. A command that I followed obediently. Of course.)
Anyway, it makes me smile to think back on it, because we’re fed a lot of crap about council estates from the media, some of it true and some of it not. We’re told they’re dangerous. Full of ‘undesirable people’. And so on. But I look back on those days as some of the best of my life. I had the happiest childhood.
Sometimes weird things happened: like the time my neighbour, whose house was quite literally rammed full of cats, brought round a tiny ginger kitten in the desperate hope that we’d take him in.
Unfortunately for my Dad, toddler-me was present when he answered the door.
‘Please Daddy. PLEAAAASE.’
And before he knew it, the kitten was off, skittering into our kitchen and hiding under the dining table. I crouched to observe him as Dad thanked the neighbour (I imagine somewhat bitterly.)
‘What shall we call him, Megs?’
I watched him for a while. A tiny bundle of fur. The same colour as my hair!
‘Goggles.’ I declared.
And that was it: Goggles became part of the family. I loved him dearly. (I mean, I did shut him in the fridge once, but that’s another story.)
Sometimes scary things happened. I’ve got a vague memory of being evacuated because the neighbour’s loft set on fire. And of course, there’s the time that our other cat was killed by rabid dogs (one of the worst memories of my childhood).
Mostly, though, it was safe. My parents let me wander around. Sometimes I’d play on the road outside the front of our house, as we lived in a kind of cul-de-sac away from most of the traffic. Mum would fill up a bowl of soapy water so I could give my toy animals a bath in the sunshine. Sometimes, they’d let me call on my friend. Sometimes, we’d play basketball in what our parents affectionately called ‘The Cage’.
When it was warm, we sat on my front step. We played on my Gameboy. We ate ice lollies and drank too much Capri-Sun. And we watched the world go by.
I spent so many hours on that step. Observing people. Witnessing friendships break down and knit back together again, and the occasional relationship imploding, voices screaming through open windows.
So much time spend there listening to music, dragging my first ever CD player down and plugging it into the hallway (to share my very sophisticated musical tastes of Steps and The Vengaboys.) Forming my first opinions about life and human relationships. Discussing my very small, childhood problems with my friend. Daydreaming about my future. Biting my lip and worrying (which I still do now.) And, of course, playing Pokemon.
I know I’m looking at this through the soft lens of childhood. I’m sure my parents had a million worries going through their minds. A million doubts. A million fears. I bet they wanted to live somewhere else sometimes. I bet they wanted to give me more opportunities. Or to travel more. But I wouldn’t want to go back in time and change any of it.
Out of curiosity, I Google Earthed my old house today. I had a little virtual wander through the estate. When we got to our corner, I felt that same rush of familiarity, of comfort: a shadow of the feeling I had as a kid, after a long day, looking out of the car window and thinking, with relief, I’m home.
I haven’t been down to Hastings in a very long time. I should. I should take Chris and the kids and make them be bored for a couple of days while I wander around in a nostalgic haze.
Maybe next year.
