Our old life is his life now (From The Northern Echo)

Our old life is his life now

2:43pm Thursday 29th September 2011 in Mum At Large By Ruth Campbell

"CHARLIE, how do you fancy a life swap? Just for three years. Then we can swap back again?” Our 18-year-old ignored his dad, again. This was about the fifth time he had asked.

We were in Norwich, dropping Charlie off to start his first year at university. The first time his dad felt the urge to inhabit Charlie’s new life was when we visited the massive sports centre, complete with state-ofthe- art gym, athletics tracks, Olympic-sized swimming pool and multiple squash and tennis courts, which is going to be on his doorstep on campus.

What made Charlie’s new life all the more alluring was that this was the university his dad and I went to.

This was where we met and where we played out some of the most significant years of our youth. Some of the facilities may be bigger and better now but this, more or less, was our life 30 years ago.

Then, I wore Fifties retro dresses bought in charity shops with denim jackets. Charlie’s dad had a pierced ear and wore a black, leather bikers’ jacket, along with chefs’ checked trousers and pointy, red suede boots.

My hair was spiky on top, his was shaved round the back and sides.

The boys, if they could have seen us then, would have found us hilarious.

The concert hall we went to looks just the same today. This was where we saw Madness and the Undertones, Human League and Elvis Costello, Charlie has tickets for Professor Green, the Prodigy and Zane Lowe. “There’s so much going on every week,” I said.

“You have my life, I’ll have yours.

Fancy it, Charlie?” said his dad, again. But Charlie was busy on his phone, checking football scores.

It turned out he had put on a £1 accumulator bet, guessing the outcome of ten football matches over the weekend. If he got them all right, he explained, he would win nearly £3,000.

“It would cover my fees for the first year,” he said, reminding us of just how much some things have changed. Where Charlie has to take out a loan, we were lucky enough to have our fees and accommodation costs paid. And jobs were easier to come by when we finished too.

WITH Charlie still tapping on his phone, we went to see the library, quiet and peaceful, with rows of third year students reading and making notes. Charlie pointed out that, with only eight hours a week of lectures and classes, he would have free time to read and think. As a philosophy student, he would probably muse a lot too, perhaps in the coffee bar, or even the pub.

“It would only be for three years...”

said his dad, pleading now. We visited the arts centre, about five minutes’ walk from Charlie’s student flat, which is full of impressive works by Francis Bacon and Degas, and we walked around the lake, where students were lazing on the grass.

Then we sat in the central square, where we used to meet with friends all those years ago. “Just think, you could have the career, the car – and then have your life back again...”

said Charlie’s dad.

Along with two of his younger brothers, who had come to see Charlie’s new home, we went for a tour around Norwich, stopping at the houses where we had lived, and partied, in our second year. By this stage, we had all told his dad to keep quiet about the life swap. It was getting tedious now.

We pointed out the pubs we used to go to and I showed Charlie where I had had my first taste of strong, scrumpy cider, which I advised him to avoid.

WE also went for a meal in the restaurant where I had my first taste of moules mariniere, the height of sophistication then. It looked unchanged, like we had been there only yesterday.

When we told the waitress we had come here as students, she seemed interested.

“We’ve been researching the restaurant and have discovered what we think is one of the very first, original menus. It’s incredible,” she said.

The way she was talking, we assumed this ancient document dated back to the 17th Century. “It’s from 30 years ago,” she said. That would be when we first went there.

Rather than former students reliving our youth, we now felt like living history exhibits.

Next morning, we moved Charlie into his room. It was smaller than our rooms were, but he has his own ensuite. His dad thought it was too close to the main entrance, and the view wasn’t great.

“It’s fine, dad. I like it,” said Charlie, agitated now. He had just learnt that his accumulator bet had come to nothing, the fact that betting is a losers’ game being possibly one of the most valuable lessons he will learn this term.

While his dad irritated him further, talking to other students in the kitchen, I got on his nerves by busying myself organising his food in the fridge.

Charlie couldn’t wait to get rid of us. By the time we got home, four hours later, his 16-year-old brother, who had stayed behind, had already seen pictures of Charlie’s new room, complete with Inbetweeners poster on the wall, on Facebook.

“It’s his room, his life,” I reminded his dad. We just have to leave him to get on with it.