- Sunday 3rd November 2019, 11:31am [Edited]
- United Kingdom
- 7,736 posts
Weekend Status 3 - Person B (2)
Well, not quite. That comes with two provisos. One, I have said on many occasions and I mean it that had I had kids they would unquestionably have been in that category and they would never have gone to university as I did. Consequently, there is a part of me which conceptually is prepared to champion them almost parentally as long as they are not too obnoxious. Whatever, I think I can tolerate most of their states of obnoxiousness more than I could university states of obnoxiousness as I perceive such things now though not actually in the 1980s when I felt at home with ordinary university types. I probably allowed my mates to be more horrible than was appropriate but none of them displayed pushiness and a sense of entitlement like the current breed even if subsequently in some cases that turned out to have been obscured.
Two, I dress like a chav and like dressing as a chav. Consequently, there is nothing in my attire which marks me out from these very people. There is a bit of history here. Body dysmorphia early on meant that I felt that my face in particular didn't suit street style. It was all total nonsense and it took me years to force myself out of such feelings. By the end of my 20s I had succeeded and given that it was noticeable I got a lot of flak from people who had known me until they got used to me being just what everyone else is. I'm not ancient looking. I easily carry it off in a way that many of my current age could not do which pleases me hugely as it is a kind of getting my own back. I watch the way people move into the clothes of old people at 45 with disbelief but that's up to them. The minus side is that everyone sees me as so normal that I can't be narcissistically paranoid anymore and when situations get iffy any statement that I am a 56 year old graduate with personality issues is dismissed on all levels, I have to carry the cross of being society's' average bloke and that ain't good.
Then before the fireworks there was the band. Old geezers with beards who in truth were 10 or 20 years younger than me knocking out versions of ELO and the Beatles and Oasis at deafening volumes. Fair enough as it goes except that I could only think that as the originally externally uncool but always internally cool geezer, not that anyone would have known, it was inevitable that I would have spent 20 years ultimately at all of the cool gigs and cool festivals, not least seeing Oasis live before they were well known. So, no, there was no identification with those people, their wives or their big families.
And then there were the gays. Mainly bellowing out talk on the microphone from Radio Helier. For better and worse, they had chosen the records. To be frank, I feared that it was all going to be for the worse. Some disco thing. George Ezra. Shawn Mendes. Sam Smith. I don't get these modern people. Fortunately we got a bit of Etta James's "At Last" and Bill Withers's "Ain't No Sunshine" and Ella's version of "Dream a Little Dream of Me" and all was forgiven but in terms of personal identification, absolutely not. Lovely people all, no doubt, but they might as well be on a different planet. But this is precisely the thing. If the bloke on the mike had been a taxi driver, it would all have been great. Ditto the bearded wonder in the band or the middle class Dad or the Nan who campaigns for the Lib Dems and insists no one should fly until 2038. But they weren't. They were all who they are in that context and my god they identify as unfriendly "clique".