So we’re doomed? Better just rock on

In his walk shorts...he hardly looked like a bringer of hellfire

You know, when I heard the Alert Level at Mt Ruapehu had gone up, my first thought was “yeah baby, boom, it’s lava time...bring it”. Not because I’m punch-drunk on doom, and let’s face it, news of some new threat means it’s a day with a D in it, it’s that each new potential sword of Damocles gives me this lovely nostalgic sense of helplessness.

As a child of the 1980s, this is the stuff I was raised on. Take social studies at school; and to look at our teacher, Mr Bull, in his short sleeves, tie, walk shorts, socks and shoes, he hardly looked like a bringer of hellfire and brimstone. But everyone in our class could illustrate with their hands exactly how big the patch of scorched earth we’d have left to stand on would be, if the overpopulation of the planet continued.

But not really, we knew this was rubbish because obviously we were all going to be melted down to our constituent atoms by a nuclear holocaust well before then. Maybe by the Soviets, maybe the Chinese, most likely by accident, but it made no difference. It was just when – and whether we would get to have sex first.

I think this is why the “Sunday Horrors” movie picks on TV were so popular. Facing up to existential threats was just what we did.

I remember the excitement when Mr Bull said we would be going into town to watch a movie. Woohoo, movies were a rare treat, what’s not to like?

It turned out to be The Day After, the cheery tale of a nuclear strike on the US. Come for the thrill of instant death and stay for the hilarity of the survivors’ lingering deaths – my memory’s a bit fuzzy, but I think everyone was well dead by the end.

Then, just in case we weren’t traumatised enough, we were all trooped down to the school audiovisual room to watch the British version: same scenario, except in black and white.

And does anyone remember the Hellstrom Chronicles? This was on prime-time telly back when we only had two channels, or was it still just the one? Let’s say less than three, to be safe. Anyway, it was a two-part faux-documentary on one of less-than-three channels with this old guy “doom-splaining” how insects were going to eat us alive and take over the world. I started to give plants a wide swerve when mowing the lawn, in case army ants took a fancy to eating my face.

I’m still scarred by another nature show that showed some poor sloth or some such beast slowly being eaten by piranhas as it swam across a river – fun for all the family. And what the hell was it with quicksand? The stuff seemed to be everywhere, waiting to ever-so-slowly suck you into its airless embrace, leaving only a few bubbles plopping to the surface once your outstretched hands sank beneath the mire.

No wonder my cohort clutched so tightly to the nihilism of punk rock. And cask wine.

So yeah, global plagues, superpower face-offs, the All Blacks losing badly, Baby Shark, grumbling volcanoes, asteroid drive-bys, the melting ice caps, Married at First Sight, Donald Trump, anti-vaccination insanity and, I’ll leave some space for you to add your individual favourites – stuff that doesn’t impress.

Saying that though, Nazis are a thing again? Like, really? Are we going to have murderers waving flags and marching down Auckland’s Queen Street next? Just when you think we’ve all agreed on something...No matter though, been here, done all this, had the nightmares.

Gen X, this is our time, and you know exactly what to do about it – shrug, turn the music up and then use all this stuff to scare the living daylights out of our kids.

It’s the cycle of life.