Back to the Future

Modern life is brilliant.

The internet lets you do anything at the touch of a button, from cancelling your milk order to demanding that a major celebrity loses their job because you don't like hearing the word 'fuck' on television.

Women can do what they want, even if what they want is to become Prime Minister or run a football club or get their knockers out in a shoddy tabloid - no one bats an eyelid. She can even try and be president if she wants. She can't visit a pub on her own or walk down a dark street without giving off the unspoken but apparently clarion call that she urgently wants sex and any sweaty ape will do, but if she wants to run a business empire or go into space, let the bird get on with it.

Murderers tend to get caught a bit more often these days, since the police worked out how to pick up the bits they leave behind, bits that are smaller than bloodied handkerchiefs and smoking guns.

Oppression and violence against minorities is, in theory at least, less of a problem than it was a hundred years ago, because at least the folks in charge have been persuaded to publicly say it's wrong, instead of resting their feet on their little dark man servant while delivering their speeches to Parliament.

There's loads of stuff about life in the 21st century which is really rather good.

But modern life is also, in the words of Blur, rubbish. And the reasons why it's rubbish would fill a gazillion blogs on God's own PC and even then he'd have to nip down Maplins for an extra memory stick, so let's just take it all as read.

Think of your favourite reason why modern life sucks and why it would be all so much better to live in the 40s. Got it? Right, bear that in mind while you read the next few paragraphs.

While watching a documentary the other night called Time Warp Wives, I quickly realised that I was supposed to be laughing at these women. I was supposed to find them delusional idiots and snigger at their expense. For these ladies simply did their very best to operate as if it was still 1945. One of them was a bit more with it, preferring to convince herself that she was living firmly in the 50s, but you get the gist.

I was supposed to point at their beautifully groomed hair, their vibrant make-up, their elegant and dainty clothes, their adorable kitchens - I was supposed to point and giggle and probably mutter 'sad cows' under my breath.

As they bounced primly along in the passenger seats of their Riley Elfs, polka dot cake tins in their laps and Bryl-creamed husbands at their side, I was supposed to pity or condemn them. I was supposed to feel superior, because I was capable of getting by in the real world, in a world that one of them freely admitted was 'frightening'.

But I didn't feel that way at all. I envied them. And suddenly I wanted to be a Time Warp Wife too.

And it wasn't just about the life style and the fashions and the sweet little accoutrements of 40s living. I'll be honest, although I don't fancy the war much, I'd love to have been a young woman in the 40s. All those tailored jackets and pillbox hats and frightfully nice young men in uniform. All those face compacts and silk stockings and steam trains and one pound notes and perfumed love letters.

If I could step into Brief Encounter, I probably would. So when one of the girls described her life as being like an old-time movie, I sympathised entirely. When she had to leave the past behind and go into poxy Morrisons, I didn't empathise with the gormless chavs staring at her funny clothes and laughing at this attractive, poised, dignified woman. I found myself entirely in her shoes, seeing the modern world for what it is - ugly, in every single sense.

However you look at it, these women have made a cocoon for themselves. One of the girls was only 20 and she confessed her obsession with the 40s started following the divorce of her parents, when Life seemed entirely out of her control and that speaks volumes.

A few years ago I had the great pleasure of visiting a lady who lived in a wartime warp, when she agreed to be interviewed on her obsession with the past. Sitting in her colourful kitchen and eating cake made with the powdered egg that her local Tesco ordered in specially for her, she spoke of how frightening and cold she found the 21st century. Ironically, a time when people had been bombing the arse off each other somehow seemed warmer, safer and more appealing than the world she encountered outside the safety of her sandbagged front door.

And you know what? Maybe this makes me a delusional idiot, but I completely understand. And I want to be a Time Warp Wife too.