then...

If I was the Prime Minister,’ my classmate M proclaims, waggling his highlighter pen, ‘I’d get Robocop to be my bodyguard.’

His friends nod. They are all nine and ten and take the concept of ‘cool ‘really seriously. It’s 1988. As far as characters from TV and film go, Robocop is cool. Even though, with the exception of one lad who has a youngish Dad who is scornful of censorship, most of them have not actually seen the film.

It’s lunchtime and I’m sitting opposite the boys as they colour in the pictures in their ‘Choose your Own Adventure’ books and discuss Robocop. The idea of any of them becoming Prime Minister is fairly daft, but then the twenty first century is looming up and we all know that it’s going to be, to use the parlance of the times 'well futuristic'. Even ‘Tomorrow’s World’ features androids (some of which are capable of break dancing), so they’re definitely going to be a big part of everyone’s lives.

What am I doing whilst the conversation is going on? Doodling. Sheets and sheets of computer paper are filled with my scrawls. Some of them are inspired by ‘Labyrinth’, ‘ET’ and all of those other memorable trips to the temple of Butterkist. I haven’t seen Robocop, but thanks to Video Venture in my local town centre I’ve seen the lurid posters for an impressive haul of 18 certificate films. The idea of a Prime Minister (I can’t image anyone other than Margaret Thatcher being in charge of the country, but my parents have told me that one day someone else will be) with Robocop strolling by his side appeals to my very silly imagination.

As a girl (and the boys in my class have decided that girls are definitely not cool, though as we have all be learning and playing together for six years now some of them will grudgingly admit that we are the same species), I’m not supposed to join in with their Robocop based imaginings. What are girls supposed to talk about? I suspect that the answer involves Bros.

As the lads move onto another topic (probably football or more likely football stickers), I start to write a little story on my computer paper. A story in which M is the Prime Minister and he has just appointed a futuristic law enforcer on his staff. The story quickly becomes a fake news report. A curious cocktail, based on my limited understanding of both politics and horror films.

I decide to make Freddie Krueger the Home Secretary. I’m not too sure what the Home Secretary does (though I suspect it involves pencil sharpeners), but for some reason the idea of a wise-cracking murder being one appeals. Perhaps Freddie could sharpen his claws after he’d finished doing all of the PM’s HBs.

By the time my news report is finished, lunchtime is nearly over. I finish with a sentence along the lines of ‘Mr Freddie Krueger, the Home Secretary was unable to make further comment as he had a prior engagement to kill Kylie and Jason.’ Strange, ungainly words for a nipper to use. I can only assume that it was something I’d absorbed from watching the news. I had a bit of a grudge against Kylie and Jason, though I couldn’t really explain why.

I showed the story to M and the boys who had inspired it. Sadly, they were unimpressed. I’d crossed something of a line into boy-world. A couple of the girls were more interested, possibly because they were pleased with any sort of mention of Jason Donovan.

Twenty-two years later, there’s no sign of Robocop (yet) but real-life politics looks very much like one of those ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books, minus the dragons. I have seen Jason Donovan doing a glittery version of ‘McArthur Park’ on a West End stage. And I’ve danced like a wonky wind-up toy to Ms Minogue’s ditties on a few occasions. There’s a new ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ film out, with a different Freddie in. Pop culture nonsense and politics seem to be folding in on themselves like a David Lynch narratives. As far as I know, M hasn’t gone into politics but perhaps he will do when robots become more involved.