I’m going out in a bit. With my current stepping out with person. She is 35. She wants me to meet her friends, God help me. What on earth will I talk about to them?
I mean, I find Massive Attack, thrillingly modern and bleeding edge hip. She and her chums were barely germ free adolescents – if that – when Blue Lines appeared.
Germ Free Adolescence! Bloody hell! They won’t get that reference. The Clash? They’ll say “oh yeah, I’ve heard of them. Think my parents might have one of their records. Wait, isn’t it a pub in Shoreditch? Not sure..who’s for another Dirty Martini?”
Dirty Martini? Didn’t I see them at the Roxy? I’m confused. If I start talking about Thatcher and Lewisham 77 and The Who at The Valley, I’ll sound like a boy soldier who joined up to serve with Kitchener.
I think she’s told them I’m “older” but not the Ancient fucking Mariner for God’s sake! They won’t believe me if I said I’d pull all dayers in the office followed by all nighters in Soho, or the other way around, off my tree on gak and vodka.
Bloody Oasis ruled the land then! Bloody Blur! Mansun!
I am going out. I may not be any time at all. I may just make my excuses and slip back home to watch that Dexy’s doc. With a nice mint tea.
Oh God. What have I done? What am I doing?
Just be yourself Fin, and they’ll see what your partner sees.
Fin: I’m 36 and you just made me laugh out loud.
Go be you and enjoy it. People are people, whatever their age.
Wait a minute. Aren’t you at The Mingle, Bingo?
If they start ragging you about your age, just ask them how much they paid to go to university. Then tell them how much you paid.
While flicking the Vs.
Nothing pointed, Fin. Have fun.
*ahem*
Yes. Yes, I’m…. at the Mingle. And everything’s fine. Really fine. No problems to report, no disturbances and certainly no fatalities.
Please don’t send anyone down here to check up on us, we’re absolutely fine, ignore any strange noises it’s just….. high spirits.
Yeah, that’s it – high spirits.
Oh stop it. Just have a gorgeous time & shit. Let us know how the dreams unwind…
Hope it went well. I’m sure you made a wonderful impression.
Impression? I gave them ny best Frank Spencer.
Tumbleweed. A tolling bell.
As it happens, it was a fun evening. A late one. A bunch of them came back. Drinking. Which I don’t too much anymore. Dancing. Hardly ever. Two of them stayed. Crashed out. Still here. Cup of tea and an Uber and yes, we really must etc. beckons. I don’t do Facebook. They don’t need to know. Whatsapp? What’s that? Snapchat? How about long conversation? This is no way to carry on. I’ve got chores to do. Errands to run. Yoga to, um, yoga.
They liked my place. Liked my records. Liked the Dusty. Even the Miles. Must admit the sight of Katie and her friends gyrating slowly to Bobby Womack’s Woman’s Gotta Have It was not unappealing.
I’m 55. I should be reading Gardener’s World and voting UKIP. In my head, of course, I’m 17. Just older now. Not much wiser.
Dear Admin persons,
It has come to my attention there are young people on this site. Can you do something about it please. I did not die in the punk wars for this sort of filth. Harrumph.
P.S. I went to see the Bootleg Beatles at a belated Beany birthday bash in Buxton last night. There were also “young things” in attendance at that. Makes one proud to be British.
Sent via the interweb.
Fin – I’m 28 – a bit younger than the intended demographic – and half of what you posted sounded like witchcraft and devilry and made me a little bit scared…
And everyone knows that the best Massive Attack album is “100th Window”…