I was seven when the Y2K buzz hit — old enough to know it wasn’t a crisp flavour, but still young enough to think “the millennium” meant something magical. The adults made it sound like the whole world was about to turn into a giant glitter ball.
The living room looked like Hobbycraft had exploded. Metallic streamers dangled from every surface, gold balloons bobbed menacingly in the corner (pop hazards, obviously), and the buffet table was a masterpiece — sausage rolls, cheese-and-pineapple sticks, bowls of Skips, and triple-layer jelly that looked far too fancy to eat.
I had a sparkly headband that kept sliding into my eyes, while my cousin wore those huge “2000” glasses that made him look like a cartoon bug. Just before midnight, everyone huddled together for the countdown — adults clutching champagne, kids clutching Capri-Suns — while the numbers ticked away on the TV.
When the clock struck twelve, the room erupted. Hugs, kisses, party poppers, “Auld Lang Syne” sung half-drunkenly, and me humming along like I knew the words. Then, right on cue, Robbie Williams – Millennium blasted out, as if the entire world had agreed this was the official anthem of the future.
The last thing I remember is falling asleep on the sofa, headband still on, glitter on my cheeks, and the muffled sound of laughter as the “future” carried on without me.
🎤 Daisy’s Corner
“Ah, yes, the year 2000 — when people thought computers were going to explode and planes would fall out of the sky. I was seven, so naturally, my plan was to hide under the table with a cocktail sausage and wait it out. Spoiler: nothing happened. Unless you count Uncle Brian spilling wine on the karaoke machine during Angels, which was… actually more of a blessing than a curse.”
Sometimes nostalgia isn’t about understanding what was going on — it’s about remembering how big it all felt when you were small. And in my seven-year-old brain, the year 2000 was pure magic… glitter, Skips, and all.
Asten Does Nostalgia 
Leave a comment