Days of Wonder

It is now 7 weeks since I moved, and overall would say that I am enjoying being back in Janner-land. I previously lived here for 3 years while doing my degree, which in September will be (quickly-check-the-calendar-oh-my-god-it-is) a decade ago. Its strange how you remember things when looking back so far. Certain aspects of what happened at Uni, like the way I acted, the things I said, and did, seem similar to today, but others appear completely foreign. I see myself in some of the memories and find it hard to recognise the guy there. Its me, of course, but much like a severed arm must look like to its owner when its on the floor, seeing things from such a starkly different perspective can make them hard to recognise. Other memories seem more familiar, and make me wish I could go back to that time. They’re as clear as Blu-Ray, and cast a picture into my brain that can still make me smile even ten years on.

Like yesterday, for example:

I was walking up some steps in the centre of campus. They have had an extra flight added since my first stint here, and I started wondering why I would notice such a strange detail. As I was about half way down, a memory flickered a few times, jammed on, then off, and then came through in a clear stream:

These were the Bread Crate steps.

And suddenly I'm back in 1997.

Upon leaving the Union on a Friday night, usually with an obscene amount of snakebite and black swirling in our stomachs, my housemates and I would be on the look out for something amusing to do before the takeaway – puking – sleep – hangover cycle of the weekend would kick in. Occasionally we would be late, and lucky, enough to be around these steps when the previous morning’s bread crates were stacked up outside awaiting collection. The crates were heavy duty red plastic, about two and half, by three feet long and their length meant that when placed longways on the steps, they were always in contact with at least 3 of the step corners. This facilitated a smooth(ish), continuous slide down the steps as if they were a solid 45 degree slope. However, the small area of step corner in contact with the crate meant that they’d slide down at some pace, and this pace was considerably increased if you sat in them.* They were the luge for the concrete generation.

Breadcrates?











Check.

Extremely drunk competitors? Check.

Steps with a central handrail separating the track into two identical racing lanes? Check.

Race-on? Ahhhhh-Ch-eeeeeeeeaaaaa-ck

The chanting would begin, ‘Bread-Crates! Bread-Crates! Bread-Crates!’
And before too long a crowd would form and take bets on who would win, fall out, or just kill themselves.

I remember once (though how much is snakebite memory im not sure) rotating around 180 degrees on the way down and doing the final flight of steps (at considerable speed, by now) backwards. Another time I spilled out of the cart and did the final flight on my head, then shoulders, and then back, as I rolled, long-ways down the track. Whatever happened, however horrendous the crash, or narrow the defeat I always found Bread Crate Racing a pure delight. If Id have broken my neck, I would still have been telling the doctor about how much fun it was when you reach the bottom and see how far you can skid out on the flat.

Back to 2007 and Ive reached the top of the steps. I get out my phone and text a fellow Bread Crate Racer from back in the day,

‘Mate they’ve extended the Bread Crate track by 10 steps’

To which, 10 minutes later, he replied:

‘You are to Bread Crate Racin’ what Ali was to Boxing. Youre a gent and a Scholar, and of course a complete cu nt. Do some work you old student wannabe’

Which I thought was a bit harsh, but probably fair.

Im already looking forward to when the next memory hits.

*Ive just checked, and of course you tube has come to help my poor explanation...click here (don't blink).