The Retrovirus

Yesterday I bought some of these:


Next week we are off to the Boardmasters festival and we needed something in case the British Summer defaults back to Autumn. We got two blue ones for us parents and two red for the girls because we are one fucking rock and roll family. Our plan is to find a fat man wearing a yellow coat and chase him through the festival.


(WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA tubby! We’re going to eat your cherries!)

The funny thing is my girls are too young to know who Pac Man is. They don’t know why Lucy and I giggle when we make WAKKA WAKKA noises and chase each other, they’re just happy that we’re running around the apartment in colourful clothing and being loud. I love this massive resurgence of nostalgic, retro merchandise. Everytime I go into a shop these days I’m surrounded by stuff from my childhood, like when I visit my Dad’s house only with happy memories.


(Oh the old crying shed, how I miss your cold, detached embrace so much like my father’s but with less disappointment)

My new favourite possession is my Super Mario hat and while I understand that it does make me look like an american tourist I like to think it portrays me as a childlike figure of fun, a jester almost, instead of an out of work long distance lorry driver.

2013-07-23 19.49.26

(or future body double for Michael Moore’s assassination) 

The influx of retro clothing and products comes from our love of the past. Right now the world believes that it’s going to hell so what’s the best way to feel better? Remember the good old days. Remember when you’d buy a sealed pack of stickers for less than the cost of a new car? Remember when you found porn under bushes outside your school left by some perverted but thoughtful shrub goblins? Remember when the word blowjob meant something else entirely?


(oh yeah that’s it baby, get it right down to the master chip)

I have to say for me this has meant I can wear a lot of the old clothes from my past. Except the purple shell suit my mother bought me thinking it was “cool” at the time. Just in case she’s reading this Mum shell suits were never cool and boys wearing purple ones were destined for a life as a rentboy, also spending my childhood afraid of naked flames was not character building.


(Shellsuits: The real cause of forest fires)

All I need now is to find a shop stocking Sonic the Hedgehog underpants and my wardrobe is complete.


(Fast and obsessed with rings, oh yeah baby hold on because I’m going to smash your eggs)


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