Kicking It Old Skool

Yes, of course I love my iPhone (invented 2007), my hairdryer diffuser (invented 1992) and Crispy M&Ms (apparently invented in 1999, although it feels a lot more recent, if you ask me).

But this week, I have been enjoying a bit of wistful nostalgia and living in the past. And not just a half-arsed ‘Yeah, let’s bring back leg-warmers and slap-bracelets’ kind of past. I’m talking a ‘way back before I was even born’ kind of past. This is retro with a capital R. Retro, if you will.

So don’t hang out in 2013. Come on, grab your coat and a Mint Wispa for the road (they should bring those bad boys back, shouldn’t they?) and let’s bez it down Memory Lane together.

Here are 3 of my collisions with history from the past 7 days….

1. I went to where custard was invented. Did you hear me? Where custard was INVENTED. Impressive, no?

I should probably clarify, as I might be exaggerating a smidge, or over egging the pudding, if you prefer (lolz). I went to where Mr Bird invented custard powder in a tin circa 1837. Apparently, the original notion of custard started somewhere in the Middle Ages with a recipe fondly known as Crustardes of flessh but that sounds horrific, so we’ll leave that one alone, shall we?

Back to Mr Bird. He invented custard powder because his wife had an unfortunate egg allergy. Poor Mrs Bird. Presumably he didn’t want her to go through life without knowing the joys of custard. As indeed no-one should.

Anyway, The Custard Factory is in the Irish Quarter of Birmingham, and it is now a delightful little complex of vintage shops and ace cafes. Unfortunately, it is not a museum of custard. A panda can dream.

2. I have been playing Yahtzee. Like a demon. I conducted an informal survey and it seems most people played this as a child. You remember, it’s the one with the dice and the cup and the shaking.

I, on the other hand, played it for the first time last month, and am now completely addicted. I forced my flatmate into printing off score-sheets at work and we’re now embroiled in a full-on tournament. A Yahtzee-athon. The Yahtzee-bowl. I’m still working on the name. The important thing is it’s currently 3-1 to me.

3. I got a splinter. (Stay with me; this story gets more dramatic in a minute. Actually, it totally doesn’t. It gets marginally more interesting, but stay with me anyway). So, I got this splinter. And I couldn’t get the bugger out. And it really hurt. And it completely disappeared into my finger and all that remained was a big red lump. See, marginally more interesting, as promised.

I started having a terribly dark vision whereby said splinter gets into my bloodstream, whooshes up my arm and then my heart explodes. So I did what any sane person would do. I took it to the pharmacist lady in Boots and asked her if she thought I would die from it.

I fully expected her to roll her eyes, feign deep concern at my 6-year-old’s affliction, and send me packing. But no. She said I needed something called a Drawing Paste. I must have looked somewhat sceptical or confused, because she then explained in words of one syllable that it was a paste that would coax it out. What the f? I thought. Is it suddenly 1822? Have we now rejected modern medicine in favour of crackpot Victorian ointments and tinctures and other ridiculous quackery?

I didn’t say any of this, of course. I obediently paid for my pot of Drawing Paste, went home and consulted Google. Guess what? It’s an actual magical thing. A mysterious salve that can somehow suck foreign bodies out of you. Well, not quite magic. Turns out it’s magnesium sulphate, which cures a myriad of ills, including asthma and constipation. Obv.

And you know what? It only bloody worked. Five days of paste-smearing later, my finger ejected a massive shard of wood.

So you can keep your new-fangled modern technologies. I’m sticking to custard and quackery.