I have been getting my nostalgia fix by watching episodes of Crimes that shook Britain on the Crime scene investigation weeklong free trial on Amazon.
Of course, I am not talking about the crimes themselves but more stuff along the lines of ‘Hey, do you remember when everyone’s cars looked like they were folded out of cereal boxes?’. You could have been drawn into the current hipster moustache renaissance, but back in the times of British crime, everyone, had a moustache. A big fat bushy one too. None of these twirls, or half pint Bronson curls. To be honest, it is probably a law enforcement thing because they featured prominently in the documentaries, almost to the point that they would compete with each other to see who could have the biggest on-screen ‘tache.
Has crime got too dangerous? I do not want to say less novelty, but do you know what I mean? There used to be Crime Watch, Watch Dog, Dog Cops, Felony Jerks, Super Sleuths, who wants to be convicted of murder? a long cold thin hard line of policemen, Anne Robinson’s bucket of ‘wrong’uns and ne’er do wells’ and then The Bill. Though it was not just confined to the law floor of the emergency services. There were so many hospital drama’s that I started to worry about my actual real life GP’s personal problems. Though I guess there is less opportunity for escapades down the drop-in health clinic.
My GP treats me every six months or so for an easily fixable ear problem. When it flares up, usually with a change to a colder season, I go and see him. We both shrug. He says, ‘we can easily fix that you know’, I say ‘sick, lets do it’. I leave with the meds and then the cycle repeats itself. Do I keep missing the opportunity to make the first move? Does he want me to set up the appointment on our behalf? I do not mind the ear problem too much honestly, because it gets me out of any kind of swimming. I am a, I will watch from the side, sort of guy. The kind of guy who talks sideways through his teeth. ‘it looks like they are all still fine”, contemplating what the most efficient and least embarrassing way of removing your important clothes and possessions just in case you are called into action is, because extra floating, struggling bodies just make it easier for the royal lifeboat association to see you. You must break a few eggs to make stuff out of eggs. My girlfriend eats eggs like a hen in reverse. Sorry, I just wrote that last bit the other day and there was no other place for it.
Big news stories define my childhood memory. They help me remember how old I was. Why, when people tell you where they were when big news stories happened, does no one ever say, I was sat at home watching the news on my tv? That is where I was on 9/11, that is where I was when Diana died, that is where I was John Prescott or whoever took that egg full on in the face. Am I just not going out enough? Everyone is like, well I was cliff diving in the Maldives when I heard about the second tower going down.
I was in Greece when I heard about Syd Barrett’s death, but it turned out it was a one-year anniversary memorial and I had just forgotten that I had already been sad about that before. It tarnished only around five minutes of my holiday when I realised it was just in a small box on like page 7. But to be honest, I would give anything for a one-year-after death page 7 box in any sort of publication. Well within reason. I do not want to be featured in anything like what I am watching right now.
Seriously. Watch old crime docs for the aesthetic but try not to worry too much about what all these mad olden days people were up too.
