Round the Town (3)
So there I was at the Poets' cafe listening to the regulars and Daljit Nagra. At the interval I stepped outside with my thermos of coffee for a crafty snout. The door opened behind me and out came three young men with pints. One of them engaged me in conversation. I sighed inwardly; a pint of lager in the hand of one's interlocutor is a sure sign of impending boredom at best and unwanted aggression at worst. Lager!? In this weather? Fucking stuff should carry a health warning.
Sure enough, the ginger whinger wore a Stella scowl to go with his Heineken hump and was scathing about the comedy act taking place in the other theatre. I adopted an air of unforced bonhomie, changed my register to street slang mode and agreed with everything he said. Don't get me wrong; I've nothing against a punch-up, especially with a fool who's had a skinful and wants to give it some large, but I had a poem to read.
Anyway, I went back in and thought nothing more of it, but after the metrical jollities were over (and good they were too) the same three young men were outside, still gassing. As I was 100 yards down the street I heard one of them, possibly my unwanted companion, yell 'EDL!'
Fizzy piss and the EDL: can you spot the link? Lager, my arse; EDL, my arse. Why do working class boys (mostly boys) let themselves be seduced by cheap booze and cheap slogans? I understand: I too have been seduced; it is easier to blame someone even more helpless than you. But it is not right. And the best way to counter it is not through street confrontation (although that is needed too) but ridicule. The BNP is slightly menacing only because people take that fat fuck Griffin seriously. Start laughing and the windbag will deflate fast enough.
BNP: Bollocks Normally Pong
EDL: Enormously Damaged Libidos
ED Laager, a filthy old brew
To be flushed down a toilet near you
As this is a civilised blog, it will be taking a break over the holidays. A few songs will appear until Xmas Eve, then a eulogy on the 29th and something else on New Year's Eve. Normal? service will resume on the 4th January.
Merry Xmas.
© Simon M Hunter 2010
Sure enough, the ginger whinger wore a Stella scowl to go with his Heineken hump and was scathing about the comedy act taking place in the other theatre. I adopted an air of unforced bonhomie, changed my register to street slang mode and agreed with everything he said. Don't get me wrong; I've nothing against a punch-up, especially with a fool who's had a skinful and wants to give it some large, but I had a poem to read.
Anyway, I went back in and thought nothing more of it, but after the metrical jollities were over (and good they were too) the same three young men were outside, still gassing. As I was 100 yards down the street I heard one of them, possibly my unwanted companion, yell 'EDL!'
Fizzy piss and the EDL: can you spot the link? Lager, my arse; EDL, my arse. Why do working class boys (mostly boys) let themselves be seduced by cheap booze and cheap slogans? I understand: I too have been seduced; it is easier to blame someone even more helpless than you. But it is not right. And the best way to counter it is not through street confrontation (although that is needed too) but ridicule. The BNP is slightly menacing only because people take that fat fuck Griffin seriously. Start laughing and the windbag will deflate fast enough.
BNP: Bollocks Normally Pong
EDL: Enormously Damaged Libidos
ED Laager, a filthy old brew
To be flushed down a toilet near you
As this is a civilised blog, it will be taking a break over the holidays. A few songs will appear until Xmas Eve, then a eulogy on the 29th and something else on New Year's Eve. Normal? service will resume on the 4th January.
Merry Xmas.
© Simon M Hunter 2010
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