This is a column I wrote ten years ago and it’s amazing to see that things are the same, just worse. Enjoy!
When I was growing up in Stockport I used to read a column in the free paper. It was called 'Neil's Point of View', and every week the writer would hold forth on various subjects in an affable and amusing fashion.
I don't know how old I was- maybe ten or eleven? – but I distinctly remember thinking: 'I want to be Neil.'
I don't mean I wanted Neil's luscious head of raven-black hair or resplendent moustache, (and perhaps, universe, I wasn't clear enough about the moustache), but even back then, I must have known that I wanted to see my ideas in print, preferably next to a small box featuring a picture of my face.
And so, eventually, by luck, or fortune, or determination or simply because of the burgeoning moustache, I became Neil. I was Neil for the Bolton Evenings News for several years. Then I was Neil for an online magazine. Then for the Big Issue North. (I was also Neil for a fancy dress party back in 1993 but everyone took me for Tom Selleck.)
I had other dreams as a child, too – to be a novelist, and to be a vet, for instance – one of which is a work in progress (Editor’s note - achievement unlocked. Hurrah!) and the other which I satisfy by saying hello a bit too enthusiastically to dogs in the park. But sometimes I still remember to be pleased that my small ambition, so clear back then, eventually came true.
I was reminded of this when I read a story about a teenager who has been banned from twitter for having sex with a cheese and ham Hot Pocket. Apparently, the boy promised to carry out the act if he received more than 420 re-tweets, and did it because he wanted 'internet fame'.
The boy added, ‘Some of these people [his followers] would be shocked that I work in a restaurant.’ Shocked isn't quite the word. Certainly on my next trip state-side, I'll be sticking to Pop Tarts.
Internet fame is now a bona-fide ambition, like being a astronaut or prime minister used to be, except that while the latter involve hard work and dedication, all you need for the former is a web cam and a toastie.
I can't help wonder what Neil would have made of all this.
In the first instance I'm guessing he would have said, 'What's the hell is the internet?' because remember this is Stockport in 1985.
But once I had explained about email and Google and Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and smart phones and tablets, perhaps throwing in some background information about the the rise of celebrity culture, the impact of reality TV on an impressionable generation, the power of the media and the seemingly voracious need these days to have strangers validate our every thought and action, I think Neil would still probably wonder how having sex with a microwavable bread product could be viewed as a good career move.
Then maybe I would go on to talk about how much life has changed since the 80s. That in 2014, ephemeral, intangible things like clicks and likes and followers are our currency, while the things that seemed so solid back when he was writing – the property market, jobs for life, the print journalism industry – are actually far more vulnerable than he could ever imagine.
But I wouldn't want to scare him. So, in the end, I'd probably just tell him I enjoyed his column, that he helped me become who I am. And that I really did like his moustache.
Find my novels The Gods of Love and The Love Delusion here.
I didn’t know you grew up in Stockport (did I?). I worked in the Waterstones there for a while. (And lived in Heaton Moor.)