The dental damage and childhood joy of the 10p mix-up

There was a time when heading to the corner shop for a 10p mix-up with my chums was the highlight of the week, or rather, every other day, really.

Flumps, chocolate drops, lemon sherbets, flying saucers, jelly babies, strawberry shoelaces, sour bombs, gobstoppers, squishy ‘fried eggs’, ballerina-pink mushrooms, white mice, Refreshers lemony chewy things and pink-and-white Drumsticks that instantly incurred at least five cavities, fizzy cola bottles or fizzy apple belts, gelatinous snakes and a panoply of other animal shapes that came in a kaleidoscope of colours sometimes dipped in extra sugar for extra prospective dental work, and sometimes one or two Smarties, Chewits, Love Hearts or bon bons thrown in there with synthetic banana-shaped confections dipped in chocolate - you got whatever fate decided and you loved it and, yes, it was only 10p.

These days nothing costs 10p, and no respectable child would be sated by the prospect of a paltry mix-up.

But those were the days.

And in the end we had to visit the dentist almost as often as the corner shop, especially if you got into an addiction to hard-boiled sweets, more commonly associated with elderly aunties, butter balls, brandy balls, cola cubes and the like, or caramels and toffees that you had to chew for hours, the pile of shiny wrappers building up shamefully beside you as your blood-sugar levels sky-rocketed -  as bad for your teeth as the ridiculous sticks of rock you got on holiday that tasted minty, were minus nutrition of any sort and really only exist to help dentists maintain hefty mortgages, sports cars and lengthy jaunts to the South Pacific.

Same with those Chupa Chup ball-shaped lollipops you got in the Chemist’s or a relative whipped one out magically for you just as you were about to go off crying like a fire engine over some trivial matter, like the dysfunction of Barbie’s miniature oven or the loss of your Cabbage Patch Kid, or the terrible fate of a grazed knee after falling off your bicycle that you were still using with stabilisers or the realisation that your best friend’s paddling pool was superior because it came with a fully functioning slide.

Then too in the late 80s and 90s was the beloved era of the corn snack. They are still about, but more difficult to put your hands on, much less ubquitous. Remember Space Raiders, Meanies, Rollers, Wotsits, Bikers (my erstwhile favourite)?

My brother cried the whole way to school because the shop was out of Rollers and he distinctly did not want Discos or Hula Hoops (which to me were the quintessence of banality, especially ready-salted). All of which was washed down with Iron-Bru, Vizade or Mountain Dew.

These days children eat things like avocado smashed on sourdough with wheatgrass and spinach smoothies or the like, with parents loath to even allow their little darlings the excessive sugar rush of pure orange juice lest they deviate from clean living.

Well, I had about eight childhood teeth out, at a conservative estimate, and did it do me any harm? I lived on E numbers and salt. Yet here I am. And I shall endure until the end. Despite my many cavities.

I mean, what is childhood if not carte blanche to gorge oneself stupid on sweeties and snacks and fizzy drinks?