One of the standout lyrics on Taylor Swift’s latest album The Tortured Poets Department goes, “You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me”. The line is from the song Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?, which might be a rage anthem directed at the Republican Party, a revenge song aimed at anyone Taylor is assumed to have beef with, or is about whatever theory the dedicated Swifties have some up with on any given day.
Song meaning aside, the lyric spawned an endless stream of people posting memes online, pairing “You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me” with funny or tongue-in-cheek images of their own chosen “asylum”. Some went with the fast-food restaurants where they had their very first jobs, others with their schools or colleges. I even saw a selection of images of Dublin city’s Central Bank area in the 1990s and early 2000s – an absolute mecca for skaters, emos, grunge kids and punks to hang out. When I thought about my own version of “the asylum where they raised me”, one place and one place alone kept coming back into my mind: The Playhouse at Superquinn in Naas.
Essentially it was a short-term stay creche. Somewhere frazzled parents could drop off their kids for an hour while they shopped. Every Saturday I’d be faced with the dilemma of the week: go in with Mam to do the shopping and therefore possibly influence her into buying something exotic like Coco Pops or salted peanuts, or go into The Playhouse and play with exotic toys we didn’t have at home. There was a Big Yellow Teapot, a giant box of Stickle Brix and, to my memory, an endless supply of marla play clay fresh out of the packet in delicious little ribbed strips.
In my head The Playhouse was cavernous. In hindsight it had no windows and possibly an oppressively low roof? It had a stable-type door manned by – again, in my memory – a Mary Poppinsesque woman full of smiles and warm vibes. In reality it must have been a nerve-racking task, fielding children in and out all day and hoping to God you gave the right one back when Mammy or Daddy came calling.
I bedded in at a supermarket creche and survived with all my teeth and without contracting impetigo. What a trooper!
Behind her, wars were being waged, chickenpox was spreading like wildfire, fierce friendships were being forged, and at least one child was always crying like they’d been dropped off at the Arctic Circle.
The résistance in The Playhouse was always The Big Red Fun Bus. Again, this was too large and glamorous a toy to have at home so “goes” of it were at a premium. Who wanted to be over at the poxy wooden jigsaws when there was a double decker that was also a house to play in? Indeed, some of the supermarket creches around the country were in converted buses in the car parks. Imagine playing with the Big Red Fun Bus inside a big red fun bus. Keep your Nintendo Switches and Emerald Park rollercoasters, nothing could ever beat a creche on a bus.
It’s hard to imagine such a relaxed service operating now. After all, this was all before mobile phones so contacting parents in the event of an emergency or – I’m sure it happened – a forgotten child might have been down to the most powerful person in the supermarket – the lady at the customer service desk with access to the microphone and the tannoy. “Could Mrs McLysaght please come to The Playhouse? Your daughter has trapped another child’s hair in the hinge of a Polly Pocket clam shell” (Polly Pocket was another coveted item and it’s plausible that the prospect of going home to my brothers’ Star Wars hand-me-downs might have sent me into a jealous rage).
Insurance and other necessary legal issues must have eventually become a nightmare. Superquinn closed its creche facilities in 2006, and of course all Superquinns are now with O’Leary in the grave. Creches at other supermarkets and shopping centres have also largely petered out although large centres such as Dundrum Town Centre, Liffey Valley and Mahon Point still have drop-in facilities. Ikea has Smaland but, according to the website, it’s available only for bookable sessions with parental supervision.
When Taylor Swift sings “You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me”, she’s probably referring to the stresses of life in the spotlight, her issues with eating disorders, misogyny and the ruthless music industry. But when I sing it, I’m telling a story about how I bedded in at a supermarket creche and survived with all my teeth and without contracting impetigo. What a trooper!