Sheer Magnetism

The other night the lovely Sarah had an accident in the bedroom. Although slightly embarassing, thankfully it was only a minor spillage.

In dropping her jewelery collection on the floor I found myself calling for a magnet – something I can’t remember doing for a long time. When was the last time anyone needed a magnet? Yes, I know they’re in computers, scrap yards and recycling centres, but I’m talking about magnets in the sense in which we all knew them as children.

I can remember learning about magnets at school and how quickly they became playground currency. I, like every boy, had a small collection in my trouser pockets at all times. There were the typical Acme(Tm) style ‘u’-shaped ones in red, oblong ones and square ones. In the quest to win the magnet wars at playtime (where polarities are reversed and the winner is the one to repel the other the furthest), the stakes were continuously raised. People set about dismantling the speakers of home stereo systems to gain the biggest magnets possible. Fortunately stereos were obliging by being the size of a small canal boat at the time.

I get a strangely fuzzy glow when I think back to magnets, but this nostalgia is dangerous stuf and it got me thinking about the things we no longer need. Vitamin tablets, for example, were once a daily childhood fix of sanatagen before school but are now the preserve of flaky-haired women in stripey jumpers who are members of Save the Earth. Wellingtons and Earmuffs are a thing of the past, unless you’re a farmer or a trendy new media type with thick balck plastic-rimmed glasses called Robyn. Those black coats with fur-lined hoods that found fame in Quadrophenia, but which now are only seen on Eastenders.

There are of course things which enter your life to help you mark the milestones of getting old. Moisturiser, embodied in my childhood as mystical bottles of Oil of Ulay, becomes a daily chore to stop the skin on my hands, which once repaired itself almost immediately after a minor bump or scrape, cracking like the fault lines of California. I now have glasses to help me find my misplaced contact lenses, where once my hawk-like pork pies could spot a new Matchbox car at 1000 yards. Garden kneelers come along to help you get down close to the mud and bushes I once made camps in.

Life changes, but it only takes a split second for an object to re-enter which makes you regress to days of anti-septic sprays and immortality…