Have you ever noticed how self-important this city’s inhabitants are. Their worldview is so London-centric that for many people London = England. There is nothing else to it.
When the man on the telly talks about the House of Commons, he’s only talking about that building just across the river. When he talks about A-list celebrities gracing our shores from half-way across the world, it’s just there – in Leicester Square – not an obscure and abstract location somewhere else in the country. When he talks about protests and riots you can hear them from your office window – not on the radio. There’s such an air of self-importance that if someone were to point out that last year’s riots actually occurred right across the country, you probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear a city-type remark “yeah, well we started it”.
With all that going on on their doorstep it’s not surprising that they feel like the rest of the country follows their lead.
But sometimes, alright a lot of the time, some of this city’s inhabitants need a serious whack around the face. Stop feeling so self-important, and unique, and trendy – you pretentious gaggle of arse-trumpets.
When I read this in, wait a minute, what shitty glossy free magazine was it – well I can’t find it now, and anyway I’m digressing – when I saw this, it made me so bloody annoyed I… well I… went on about it to everyone around me for the rest of the day.
A slashie?!! What a load of crap.
There are people all over the country working two, three or even more jobs, just to bring in some extra money. There are single mums, husbands, brothers, and teenagers all across the country, walking through shit weather to get from one job to another; cleaning offices, toilets, working in shops, picking up rubbish – all to raise that extra bit of money because they don’t earn enough from the first.
It’s not a new and interesting social trend which highlights something about our changing social habits. A perspicacious epiphany giving insight into modern patterns of work and behaviour. It’s self-aggrandising pat-on-the-back crap, that’s peddled by this magazine and others like it to construct an image of themselves and their readers as young, and trendy, and thrusting – dynamic and daring – living modern lives filled with high-octane nights out, crazy sleeping patterns, paninis, flat whites and wasabi peas. It’s the epitome of the modern boast of being “busy”.
Sheila in Barnsley – you know Sheila – the one who works at Gregg’s in the day but moonlights as a cleaner/barmaid/factory worker in the evening – she’s not dynamic. She’s not trendy. She’s a bloody single mum with a penchant for pasties. Offer Sheila a panini and some wasabi peas and she’ll tell you to go fuck yourself.
The realisation that some people have two jobs is not an astounding new find published by esteemed sociologists – but a vacuous and meaningless load of pap that’s made the front page because this keen editor is proud at having coined a new term.
Piss off London. Piss off ES magazine.
There’s idiots everywhere I look. We’re surrounded! The morons are taking over. It’s their society now.
Loudmouth swaggering arsewipes pouring out of pubs with heads denser than the earth’s core.
A host of simpletons, hooked on consumerism and superficial culture, detached from reality, following the latest trends in their constant quest for what is ‘cool’. Unable to restrain themselves, or defer sensory gratification for even one second.
Have you seen one? They don’t always look the same. You may have seen someone wearing a little yellow bowler hat trotting down the street with an affected limp. Or someone wearing shades on the underground with a hands-free in both ears. Don’t be fooled, you were right the first time. This person is an arsehole.
You may have seen them as you were driving in your car. They were the ones that started to cross really slowly in front of you, staring through the reflective glass to catch your eye, full of hubris, as if to say “yeah, I dare you to try and run me over”.
They may be dressed tightly in superdry gear playing with their straightened hair while they queue up for entry into vintage clothes shops that have a policy of one in one out. As if it’s an exclusive bar. It’s almost more important to be seen queuing than to actually shop there.
They drink in places called Dolce or Impresario.
They invent language to suit the moment. You may catch one of them exclaiming “Check out this new tune. It’s well functional!”. But it’s not. And things are ‘sikk’, because it’s cooler to spell it like that.
They will most likely address you as ‘Ace’ or ‘Boss’, or maybe ‘Geezer’. Or if you’re of the female persuasion perhaps ‘Girly’ or ‘Blondy’.
Life is a series of ‘good times’, ‘bad times’, ‘mediocre times’.
They think that Bond is ‘Ragga’ and that Transformers is ‘Bad!’ – but I’m sure we can all surely agree that “Bumblebee is a G”.
They ‘lol’ and make statements like ‘win’ or ‘epic fail’.
Their actions and behaviour are carefully tailored to impress the wider group.
Where’s the individuality people? That stupid little hat doesn’t make you unique. That clothing label called Chump isn’t supposed to be ironic. It’s you!
If you see one of these people, stay clear. It will only diminish your estimation of society and leave you forlornly searching for validation in the crowd.