Not bloody likely. I am DOWN WITH DA KIDS.
Ok, I may have just ruined it with that sentence, but whilst I may be “getting on” I can at least have a conversation about some things that matter to teenagers.
I am vigilant about fashion. I remind myself, time and time again about the hideous things we did with clothing that was not flattering, but we considered cool. It was better to change your body shape for the worse than not wear the latest skirt/trouser/legging combo. I say something like this to myself as I watch some street wise kid lollop down the road with his trousers belted at his thighs. I do the same when I see a young girl, curvy, delightfully plumpish wearing a crop top and low slung jeans which spill out “a la muffin toppish”. I may choose not to wear that gear, but I now what it means to “need” to wear it. I’m cutting them some slack.
I know how loud teenagers can accidentally be. On the bus, in the street. They talk first, think later. It sometimes really annoys me or makes me angry, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, that I was exactly the same. Saying something dorky at the bus stop, far too loud and far too annoying for those around me. I too, remind myself of this A LOT.
What I am especially good at is music. I do not listen to Kiss FM, Radio 2, Radio 4 or Radio 5. I am a massive fan of Radio 1 and I’m not going anywhere. The reason I’m not going anywhere is because I have a theory. A theory about old age and music.
Imagine that Radio One is a pair of tight jeans. You look good in them, you feel bold in them and you wear them all the time. You really like wearing your tight jeans, it makes you feel good. Everyone says how “cool” you are and you like it. Then one day you put on a pair of jogging bottoms. Ahhh, the softness, the give, the comfort. You love the jogging bottoms because they are really safe and comfortable, but you wear the tight jeans a few more times, because, you know, you haven’t completely lost your marbles. The trouble is, the jogging bottoms are calling to you. You remember their softness. You remember how relaxing they were and you start wearing them more and more. You forget how you felt when you wore your tight jeans. You start scoffing at others and saying out loud how uncomfortable the tight jeans were. Why would anyone put themselves through that. You ignore the fact you now don’t look as good on a night out, you don’t care so much because you keep reminding yourself of your new comfort and you keep putting down others to make yourself believe that this is the right decision. You have been converted. Then one day, you pop your tight jeans on. They are too small now. You find them uncomfortable and unflattering. You cannot get your head around the fact you used to wear them.
THIS is why I can’t move radio stations. Not yet. If I start stepping off the treadmill, consuming new music (albeit a particular kind) and keeping my head in the place where music continues to change, I’ll wind up like the person who puts on the tight jeans for the last time. It won’t make any sense to me. It’ll sound like noise and I won’t get it and then there will be no going back. I can’t let that happen. Not yet.
Having said all that, it makes it sound like I’m forcing myself to listen to music I don’t like. I’m not. I love Radio 1 because I love 98% of the music they play. I think this is because I haven’t stepped off the treadmill.
I’m just very conscious of the fact that I’m pretty unusual in my age group. Most of my friends occasionally listen to Radio 1 but mostly listen to Radio 2. Quite a lot don’t listen to Radio 1 at all anymore. Ask them who the Number 1 is and they’d look at me blankly.
I have switched over a couple of occasions when the breakfast show has a stand in DJ or when they are doing a particularly cringy prank (I’ve never been able to stomach these, even in my 20’s) and whilst I love the banter, I can’t be doing with the music. For every old song I listen to, another new one is lost, passed me by.
So I’m staying put. I’m messin’ with Radio 1’s demographic and I just don’t care because the day I step off the treadmill I’ll be saying goodbye to ever being able to understand a teenager’s taste in music every again and I refuse to let that happen. I’m hanging on by my last remaining tooth whether you like it or not.