Recently I‘ve come to the conclusion that I‘m a bit of an old man. Not any sense of age or appearance as I’m still able to bend down and pick things up without making a noise and I know how to update an ipod - it‘s more a state of mind thing. I’m not the type of person who will get peeved at Facebook changing their homepage - who gives a flying fuck? I think young people’s manors have taken a decidedly dire turn towards inexcusable discourtesy and I’m only 23 and I also fucking loathe the X-Factor and believe it is the foundation of apocalyptic happenings with civilisation almost certainly being doomed due to the smoke and mirrors tricks played by these corporate, know-nothing Nazi bastards.
But there’s a number of reasons for this - My overbearing cynicism and slight naivety certainly contributes to this uneasy state of agitation, not to mention a touch of unjust arrogance and a healthy helping of stubbornness. But most old men confine to these tendencies so I’ll sweep it under my Marks and Spencer’s rug and sit with a smug grin as I don a Boden shirt.
But before I appear too grumpy to even approach, I‘d like to confirm that I do enjoy a number of things. Cigarettes is one. Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young, The Rolling Stones, red wine, Uncut Magazine is a god damn bible, bitter, the debauchery and love-fest of the sixties and seventies which I can sure as hell read about due to being born a few decades too late. Then there’s the Drive By Truckers discography which is a work of exploration in itself. The entire rock and roll saga of nostalgia intrigues me on a daily basis, and I also like to read. But that’s it.
Currently my life is a little hectic. I’m working two jobs so I can pay of Uni debts and eventually collect enough tender to be able to do what I want in a year or so. Write. So while I work my near-seven day weeks I come across a variety of utter twats. In particular, one excruciating trait dominated particularly by buck-toothed, public school girls grates me like nails on a chalk board…
In what complex strata of humanity do these hand-me-down, second-class princess’s believe it’s satisfactory to wander around in shops, cafes and restaurants while aimlessly spewing out futile noises posing as conversation on their phones. While being served they jabber, while waiting in line three inches from my face they jabber, when did this become acceptable? I’m sure Tara and Beatrix can live without your ineffectual input for a minute of two while you show some politeness and courtesy to those around you.
Just the other day in a retail outlet I was standing there when this bouffant haired, cocktail drinking Ab Fab throwback plods in, hand glued stuck to her left ear, ‘Yaaaaar’ she disgorged as her face contorted back into that scrunched up balloon knot of failed botox, ‘Yaaaar I know, yes Mummy, I’ll explain it all later but it was sooooo gorgeous’. Well that must have been a vital line of communication between to highly intelligent individuals. The only hope these air-heads have is to marry rich, which most do, or let their parents path their way through private education and high-class social networking until Daddy has to call in a favour to the chairman of the board.
These are the type of girls footballers love. Someone with a corresponding echelon of aptitude and intellect. Maybe we should just let them breed in a gold-clad farm somewhere among telephone pylons and a cloud of carbon monoxide that their gas guzzling, grotesquely personalized automobiles emit with constant coverage of their meaningless subsistence by Hello and Ok magazine. But obviously this doesn’t apply to all, just most.
I gather though, from my experience among these characters, that there is a sense of superiority amid the upper-class females whose Blackberry’s are surgically attached to their scathing paws. And I suppose this is nothing new. The poor only have themselves to blame, right? So the paupers who come face to face with these vulgar and uncharitable ‘yaaaars’ should really just accommodate the substandard conduct. OMG.
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