I will write up the event in full for New Empress Magazine, but the photos below offer a taste of the event.

In the 21st century Lendal Bridge acts as a courseway between the railway station and the town. It connects tourists to coffee shops (mostly the supremely over-priced Betty’s), students to campuses and shabby-chic bars and locals to the train station so that they can escape the tourists and students by eloping to the heady new horizons of Leeds, Manchester and Newcastle. To the community I suppose more than anything this bridge means trade but to me this bridge symbolises freedom, quietude and good old-fashioned Yorkshire pride.

The lions of England were added to the parapet to demonstrate the patriotism of the Yorkshire people.

The crossed keys represent the Diocese of York: a family of churches and schools in the york area.

The White Rose of York dates back, as far as its emblematic use goes, to the original Duke of York: Edmund of Langley. Although its origins are rooted in religious significance most people from the North Yorkshire riding now consider this a symbol of their love for York and the surrounding area. Merchandise is available from all good tourist information shops.

Growing up in the small market town of Thirsk, some 20 miles outside York city centre, Saturday trips out to York with my friends were an exhiliarating taste of independence. As soon as we passed over Lendal I felt far away from the narrow-minded gossips and doomed wannabe-teen-mums of my home town, and, as you may be able to tell from my tone, this made me very happy. Lendal transported me to new and exciting places such as Cappacino’s, a cafe that did awesome milkshakes, and the Warner Brothers cinema. Well, actually we had to get another bus out of town to get to the Warner Brothers cinema at Clifton Moor but we couldn’t have got on the bus if we hadn’t passed over Lendal Bridge. Lendal Bridge is the reason that all of my pocket money was spent on rough records cut by practically unknown Mancunian indie bands of the mid-1990s as it (cripplingly) connected me to HMV. It’s difficult to tell, in retrospect, whether that is a good or a bad thing.

Later in life I sat by this bridge to write my journal. When I was weary from washing dishes and mopping floors just so I could study creative writing in the hopes of one day becoming “a real writer” I would find shelter near this bridge and watch the river flow by as I wrote. It was quiet; it was solace; it was a parenthesis from ignorant customers, pushy bosses and cryptic lecturers. The many tourist boats would sail by and I would watch them watching me and then scribble in my notebook to make them think I was writing about them. Always mess with their minds.

All that time, however, that I was in refuge at the base of that bridge I didn’t know one of the most fascinating facts about it. I only discovered this little nugget of kitsch when I started my research for this article, but it was one of the very first things to come up: the bridge was used in some key scenes of the Brookside spin-off Damon and Debbie. Apparently way back in 1987 Damon and Debbie, a soap-bubble 3-parter, rocked the soap opera world by killing off one of Brookside’s most popular and long-running characters: Damon Grant. History, beauty and a so-bad-it’s-good pop culture reference. What more could a girl want in a bridge?

Regrettably, the advertising hook must have been somewhat lacking as many a parent remained unwilling to dash down to Toys R Us and pick up a Mr Frosty for little Johnny. I was one of those underprivileged children ruthlessly denied a Mr Frosty – my mother very simply justifying her reluctance with the line: “You’ll only make a mess with it.” If only Hasbro knew that in their quest to provide children with sickly, saccharine slush they had unwittingly spurred a not-so-civil war between parent and child that would rage for decades .

I have regularly gone into great detail about the psychological trauma caused by this unique brand of Frosty fascism over half a pint of Fruli and a packet of Scampi Fries. The strange thing is that rather than receiving the usual ridicule for yet another bout of impromptu irrelevancy, my complaint is met, more often than not, with compassion, understanding and empathy. There were many casualties in this Cold-War-For-Kids; almost a whole generation had their hearts broken by lame excuses from poor parents unwilling to spend fifteen pounds on a lump of plastic that was only going to stain the cushions on their Mahogany dining suite.

Of course, on odd occasion, I do speak to someone who actually won their war through the execution of regular, loving protests (known more commonly as tantrums), subtly urging their parents to wave the white flag. These parents were evidently less-concerned by the 15% interest rates and imploding economy but that doesn’t make the victory over the monotonous, adult condition any less poignant. I listen with envy as these victors relay tales of satisfying their friends’ thirst for e numbers and crushed ice, the only draw back being that you apparently had to grind like a monkey for 20 minutes whilst your infantile guests watched on impatiently, rapping their plastic cups on the table. But once the ice was crushed, O Hosanna! The dreams of the MTV generation were finally realised and how they loved the sweet nectar of consumerism.

Not all Frosty fables had a fairytale ending, however, and in order to come to terms with the Cold-War-For-Kids I’m proposing one last revolution for child-kind everywhere. You see it occurred to me the other day (yes it has taken me 24 years) that I’m no longer six years old. I have an income and a debit card and access to the most comprehensive shopping channel mankind has ever known: the internet. A quick search revealed that Mr Frosty is still alive. He was not killed off by a parade of parental troops marching into toy shops across the country to complain about the damage to their sheepskin rug or how long it took them to get little Johnny off to sleep that night. Not only is Mr Frosty still available but he’s been updated (so no more monkey grinding) and is dispatched with myriad accessories including 3 lolly moulds, 2 sundae dishes, and a fruit juice dispenser (in the shape of a penguin).

The fact that they chose the penguin form to mould their juice dispenser really says it all as far as I’m concerned but I do understand, given you are no longer pre-teen, that the discerning reader may take a little bit more convincing. After all the years of suppressing your desire for ice crushed by a plastic snowman with frighteningly cheerful eyes it’s only natural for you to have detached yourself from the true depths of your feelings. Inviting your friends round for flavoured ice when you’re pushing 30 (or insert relevant societal milestone) may feel a little bit paltry but we now have access to something else that may prove a much bigger incentive to resurrect the Mr Frosty dream: alcohol! 80s-themed cocktail party ahoy!

Before you make your online purchase and start home-printing invitations in clashing colours, however, a little word to the wise: make sure you have a rota for crushing duties drawn up before the party ensues. Just because you’re old enough to buy your own Mr Frosty doesn’t mean you are too old to squabble over who goes next on one of the most sought after toys of all time.