RELIVING FLEET-ING MOMENTS

COMICS are a source of fun. I know that because I was an avid reader of Beano and my favourite characters were Dennis the Menace, Roger the Dodger, Minnie the Minx and The Bash Street Kids. I often wondered why after having read the 100th copy of Beano, the Bash Street Kids still remained in Class 2B and the teacher had not aged one bit.
Nothing is more powerful than the memories created by a child's experiences. Childhood is when life is uncomplicated, meaningful and straightforward when compared to adulthood where society in the persons of significant adults, model that life has meaning only when we limit ourselves to the labels of productivity, effectiveness and success.

Time has a way of breaking up our memory into little jigsaw pieces and through time we try to capture and preserve them within the confines of our mind.

So I made a bucket list of all the things I would like to do. Interspersed among the common things like travelling to exotic lands or feasting at grand hotels, there are a number of small things which are delightful to me.
One of them is standing in front of 185 Fleet Street, London with a Beano in my hand.

Just as one would associate the blue door with the famed Notting Hill movie, this particular address was where Beano was first published. While others dreamt of seeing the Eiffel Tower or Statue of Liberty, I knew I had to walk along Fleet Street.

Somehow to a child, every page of the comic running through the printing machine promised more laughter, more antics and more fun. I also imagined the rumbling machinery of the printing press, starting off slow then gathering momentum and emitting hot steam, not unlike a steam engine train.

Although Fleet Street is now associated with matters of the law, it was once synonymous with the written word. It was the home of the British press until the 1980s when it headed east to Canary Wharf and Wapping.

I could well imagine the scandals, the gossips and the exciting news exchange between journalists of that time. I could not resist trying the sticky toffee pudding that famous journalists rooted for and then entering a British red telephone box not to emerge as my alter ego (like Superman ) but to try to call my friends at the press.

If rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous is important to reach one's station in life, being physically close to where the famous journalist, the poor playwright or the humble novelist of the past is important to fulfil one's sense of personal achievement. Thus, I sauntered into Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which true to its name, had a gloomy charm.

Charles Dickens, who frequented the tavern, even alluded to it in A Tale of Two Cities where the character Charles Darnay had "a good plain dinner and wine at a tavern on Fleet Street".

I chose a chair just next to where Charles Dickens would have sat. There was a plaque bearing his name, thus reassuring me that I was at the correct seat.

It has often been said that we live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect. Perfect conditions may not happen and life has a way of accelerating as we get older.

I have seen so many senior people, despite having weak knees and bad feet, still actively climbing up and down tourist destinations. They seem to tell me that the best way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as a magnificent adventure.

I gaze at the remaining eight items on my bucket list and I could not agree more.