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I'M not surprised "Reginald Perrin" canoeist John Darwin is confused about where he's been for the past five years.

I'm wondering whether the last 10 years really happened at all, or were they a Dallas-style daydream from which I've just woken.

Let's face it, if a coma victim was to open their eyes today after 10 years what would they see? The Spice Girls on tour, Take That high in the charts, the death of Princess Diana on the front pages, Noel Edmonds on the TV . . . it's like the last decade has been erased from history.

Watching Posh, Ginger, Sporty, Scary and Baby strutting their stuff in Canada during the opening nights of their first tour in 10 years lulled me into a rose-tinted trip down memory lane.

In 1997 - the year Spice Girls achieved world domination - I was in sixth form in Abergele, North Wales, preparing to sit my A-Levels.

Tamagochi was the must-have accessory, the "Rachel" hair do was officially the coolest thing ever, and everyone was busy falling in love with Leonardo di Caprio in Titanic.

It seemed like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, with coursework, a part-time waitressing job and a crush on a boy who didn't know I existed.

Looking back, the biggest thing I had to worry about was getting my Pride And Prejudice essay done on time and choosing which Baby G watch I wanted for Christmas.

Having received a brand new metallic orange Corsa from my parents for my 18th birthday, I'd wake up about 9am-ish, drive to school, have the odd lesson and spend most of the day hanging out in the school canteen with my mates.

At lunchtime we'd take ourselves down the local bakery for a "hot and buttered" (a delicacy consisting of a dinner plate-sized crusty roll, buttered, put in the microwave for 30 seconds and filled with crunched-up prawn cocktail crisps) without a second thought to the calories.

Then we'd sit in the pub chatting about who we fancied, bitching about our arch enemy and laughing about . . . I can't really remember, but there always seemed to be lots of laughing.

Sadly, looking back, I don't seem to have achieved all that much since.

While Victoria Beckham has used the last 10 years wisely, transforming herself into an icon of the 21st century, with the equivalent wealth of a small country, I've not been so canny.

I now drive a worse car, have less disposable income and can't remember the last piece of clothing I bought that wasn't from Primark or Asda.

But if the rose-tinted specs were wrenched off me for a few minutes, I suppose I could admit that life in 1997 wasn't without fault.

I had a forehead that resembled a Domino's meat feast and a boy only had to be within a three metre radius for me to blush so hard that it's a wonder I didn't spontaneously combust.

Living at home was a bit annoying at times too, and with two light-fingered sisters, you had to have your wits about you if you didn't want your supplies of perfume and lipstick to disappear faster than Linford Christie.

But still, who cares if nothing is new anymore?

1997 was a cool time, let's celebrate it. Just please don't bring back men in sarongs and Steps.

8:38am Saturday 8th December 2007

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