How To Tolerate Younger Humans.

It’s raining and there’s a Fête going on outside in the village, so yep, I’m in a bad mood.  It doesn’t help that Daddy Ginge has decided today’s the day he gets in touch with his inner gangsta and I’ve spent the past hour enduring the monstrosity that is ‘Street Dance 3D’. If there’s one thing I will not tolerate, it’s impoverished youths feeling beaten down by society, turning their frustration into choreography, dancing like they’ve never danced before, then finally lashing out at the upper classes by winning a coveted competition (usually underground in secret, always at the expense of a better, and rightly smug rival). GAHH. So seeing as I’m off on one today, I’ve decided to turn my crazy old lady chuntering energy towards the youth of today and why I’m definitely no longer one of them. Grumblegrumblegrumble..

      1.     I don’t like Topshop. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s fun but we used to wear ill fitting vests, flowery shorts and straw accessories back in my day. Only by my day, I mean in the early 90’s when we were toddlers. And we wouldn’t have been seen dead adding men’s shoes to our urbane ensemble back then.

      2.     I want to throw things at Robert Pattinson. He looks like he was found in a skip. I’m not sure exactly when a young girl screaming hysterically at a fully grown man stopped meaning ‘I’m being assaulted’ but I'd estimate at least 10% of rapes in London these days are shrugged off as Mr Misery Guts being in town.

Speaking of which..

      3.     Stephanie Meyer you still owe me the 60,000 brain cells I lost reading your fucking book. The tag line really should have read: ‘A menopausal woman’s sex fantasy gone out of hand’. (Yep, that explains the niggling, uncomfortable feeling you got whilst reading it).. It seems by the end we were so exhausted we just decided to overlook the fact that after four very long, drawn out instalments, the Twilight saga reaches its final dramatic climax with... a conversation. Mind you, it was a very long, drawn out conversation; she’s nothing if not consistent.*

      4.     I just don’t get the fuss with Nando’s Peri Peri Sauce. Two words, youths: Chicken Caesar.  

      5.     I wish banter would be banned. Often misinterpreted as flirting, the term ‘banter’ is in fact a convenient little word used these days as a summary for 'I have just said something knobbish'. Well not in my book, young person.. (Equally unacceptable are the phrases: ‘Bantanamo Bay’, ‘Bantersaurus Rex’, ‘Bantastic’). 

      6.     I couldn’t pick Drum N Bass or Dubstep out of a line-up. I grew out of the need for repetitive sounds and flashing bright lights around the same time I mastered fine motor skills. And like a true paranoid octogenarian, a part of me genuinely believes the above devices are actually part of a secret master plan of modern technology; to prime humans into regressing back to a childlike state whilst itself, simultaneously grows ever more advanced. The ultimate goal being that one day it will take over as the governing race completely unopposed while we’re all suspended in a catatonic state, singing Nyan Cat..

..Well I’ve scared myself now. Definitely time for my Ovaltine. Xx

*Meyer, S., 2008. Breaking Dawn, pp. 679-742.  

(In case you don’t believe me. My degree’s trained me well).