Waving at Strangers from Trains and Other Childhood Joys Rediscovered

I was travelling back from a meeting in Guildford today, getting frustrated by technology (Macs. Argh.) and staring out of the window, when suddenly I was seized by a compulsion to wave at passengers on a passing train. I can only assume that my inner child was fighting its way out, urging me to break free from the shackles of work responsibilities, if only for a moment. And what a moment it was when after 30 seconds of bemused looks and uncomfortable shifting in seats, someone finally waved back.

From the grin on his face and enthusiastic flailing of arms, it was clear that my fellow waver had also been possessed by, and was utterly embracing, his inner child. It was a good feeling to have passed along a little joy and shared an uncomplicated interaction with a stranger, and to know that there are others out there who still want to act like kids occasionally, too.

It got me thinking about other little things we do that recapture the simple pleasures of childhood. Like the other morning when I arrived at work to observe a colleague slowly collecting and contemplating conkers from the path up to the office. He's six foot four and beardy, but for those few minutes he projected all the calm simplicity of a five year old enthralled by the wonders of nature and the possibilities of conkers. It was heartwarming, truly.

Intrigued by the notion of simple childhood joys, I asked some friends* how they like to release their  own inner child; the responses were prolific and most entertaining. Here are my favourite suggestions, which I encourage you to try (go on, let go a little. You'll feel better for it, I promise). Feel free to add your own.

Top Ten Ways to Stir Your Inner Child

1. Waving at strangers on a passing train
2. Collecting conkers
3. Eating cake mix
4. Shouting really, really loudly
5. Writing 'BOOBIES' into a calculator
6. Turning down the TV and making up dialogue for the actors
7. Asking "why?" repeatedly
8. Running (or even better, doing roly-polies) down a steep hill
9. Splashing in puddles
10. Making up stupid poems or song lyrics (and saying them loudly)

*Thanks to Nick, Ben, Roger, Katie, Karen and others for their contributions.

Photo by Minusbaby on Flickr

Looking Back with New Eyes

It’s been a curiously nostalgic and reflective week, thanks to a string of out of the blue, blast from the past encounters.

The first was a random Facebook chat with an old High School friend - someone with whom I’d had a passing but happy acquaintance before changing schools in the second year. Our bonding at the time may have had more to do with a sense of solidarity over the fact that we both had unusual names than anything else, but this is as good a reason as any to be friends when you’re 12.

Looking back at those days tends to make me feel slightly uncomfortable. I always considered myself an outsider, never having the right clothes or attitudes to be one of the gang, but also never wanting to compromise my convictions to fit in. That in mind, it was touching and somewhat heartening to be told by someone who knew me then that they’d always remembered me for not having followed the crowd, and now respected my then alien opinions.

Apparently I once told her (though I don’t remember this) that it was far better to be proud of getting a bargain than to show off about how much you paid for something. In the materialistic climate of the 1980s, this was revolutionary thinking indeed; these days it doesn’t seem so radical.

The very next night, another chat window popped up from one of my old theatre cronies - someone I’ve known for going on two decades. We shared many a crazy night back in the day, but were never really what you’d call bosom buddies. I was a few years younger than most of the crew at the time, and always felt that they tolerated my presence rather than embraced it. So it was nice to hear that he apparently thought my youthful pontificating and feminist views endearing.

How strange that the lingering insecurities of youth can be so easily dispelled by such spontaneous and unexpected conversations.

The nostalgia trip continued when on Thursday night I was in my local, getting ready for pub quiz, and in walked a face I haven’t seen since Sixth Form. We exchanged the usual ‘how’ve you been?’ ‘what are you doing now?’ formalities, then quite unprompted, he uttered the three magic words: “you’ve aged well”. I could have kissed him right there. As if that delicious little ego-boost wasn’t more than enough to make my night, Ant and I rather embarrassingly went and won the quiz with our team of two. And we hadn’t even done any research.

That night I slept marvellously and dreamed that I bumped into a friend from university with whom I have sadly lost touch. That is one era from which I don’t have any particular hang-ups in need of resolving, but it would be nice to see her again all the same. Sandra Borra, if you’re reading this, come out from hiding and join me on my trip down memory lane; it’s turning out to be really rather enlightening.

Another Surreal Lewes Moment

Jeremy Paxman came into our offices yesterday and I missed it. Apparently he'd been spotted filming down the road in the 15th Century bookshop, where a member of our advertising department stalked and eventually accosted him. She then persuaded him to come and pose for photographs with her colleagues, one of whom is a massive fan. He was only too happy to oblige, and spent the afternoon being fondled and fawned over by the over-excited team of ladies. This story was relayed to me at the bus stop last night by one of the girls in question, who had the photographic evidence on her phone. As she was recounting the story to an increasingly bemused audience of fellow commuters, the man himself was standing outside the legendary Catlin's, not 10 yards away. Only in Lewes.

Meeting Sulu's Fag-hag

Living in Brighton, I've become accustomed to being surrounded by a host of eccentrics, freaks and weirdos - the colourful characters are a big part of what I love about the town. But Lewes - where I travel to each day for work - boasts a much deeper strain of eccentricity that has none of the Brighton affectation about it. Proper dyed-in-the-wool 'local' fruitcakes line the quiet streets of this quaint historical town, and sometimes you over-hear the strangest things.

Today, in Lewes Post Office, I was waiting in line with an increasingly frustrated queue of customers - all visibly staring daggers at the elderly lady being served at the counter, who was clearly in no rush to be on her way. "Do you know who this letter is going to?" she asked the long suffering clerk, who raised his eyebrows in a polite but bemused "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me" sort of way. "George Takei" she proudly announced. "He was Sulu in Star Trek. It's his birthday next week". And then, as if to clarify that she was a genuine acquaintance, and not just a random geeky stalker: "Oh yes, I know him. He always sends me a Christmas card. Lovely man. Him and his boyfriend...Yes, boyfriend... Oooh, didn't you know, he came out three years ago?" Clearly she was hoping to provoke some sort of response, but sadly I couldn't hear the clerk's half of the conversation to discover if her revelation had the desired effect (although based on the above picture, I wonder that anyone was ever particularly surprised). I had been served at a different window, and was on my way out the door, and she was still in full swing. I hope I am as mad and annoyingly verbose in my dotage - this little episode really brightened up my lunch hour.

And now I can say that I shop at the same Post Office as Sulu's Fag-hag. Awesome.