Daniel's Mum is parent of the fucking year compared to David's Mum. I saw David's Mum in the street yesterday. She caught my attention by walking in front of me and then crouching down behind a wheelie bin. Odd, I thought. I hardly ever crouch down behind a wheelie bin, I wonder what she's up to? It turned out that she was hiding from a boy who was about 20 feet away. "I can see you, Mum", he said and they both laughed. I smiled. It was nice to see a Mum taking a moment to muck about and have a laugh with her kid. Then she ruined it by talking. "Shit, David", she sagely pondered. "Did you fucking see me?"
"Of course, I did" said unlucky David.
"Fucking easy to see me with my fucking fat arse sticking out", the cheery matriarch declared.
I like swearing. I have nothing against people swearing. I don't think it should necessarily be shouted in the street or any public place. It makes me a little uncomfortable. Even more so, I just don't thinking parent/child swearing should be allowed. I can't swear in front of my parents no matter how often I want to and if you do swear in front of your parents then you're just creepy. Parents aren't people, you know? You can't just swear in front of them. Likewise, I don't expect my parents to swear in front of me. I remember once having to explain an erection joke to my Mum. It was awful. I was red-faced, squirming and wanted to die. That's how your relationship with your Mother should be. Not hiding behind a bin swearing. Horrible.
I think the whole world is completely fucked and it is the fault of children. I spent the day with Bennett Arron and his family on Sunday and he stated an opinion that, I'm sad to say, I agree with. Bennett and I never agree so this is terrifying for me. Parents don't give a shit about disciplining their kids and that's why I can't go on a train without having to tell a child to switch his fucking phone mp3 player off. We went for lunch together in a bar in St. Albans, where Bennett sort-of lives, and at the table next to us was a small but ugly family. The little girl played loud, upsetting music from her phone while her Mum smiled along not once thinking that the other people in the room might have hearing. The Dad said nothing because his skin, hair and clothes were all grey due to him being dead. Sadly, I was with Bennett's family and felt that I would upset his kids if I got up to tell people off for being so incredibly thick. So I sat there and stewed in my own murderous fury. At least Bennett's kids are nice.
They really are. They're lovely. Very polite, very good fun and extremely bright. I am in constant fear for their future as I think they'll stand out a mile in later life due to them not being a pair of fat cunts each. Yasmin is nearly 10 and has formed a genuine sense of humour very early, incredible considering her genes. Xander is a 6 year old sensitive soul and very funny also. Although he loves football, which automatically makes him an utter bellend, he has a fun side to him that almost makes me forgive him for it. Bennett is often saying what a typical BOY Xander is. Football, Power Rangers, battering things, etc. I'm not so sure. After lunch, Xander was asked what he would like to do. It was up to Xander. He could do anything. Play footsie in the park, kill zombies on the Wii, club a seal. WHATEVER HE WANTED. Xander wanted to look round the cathedral.
What a typical, cheeky little tyke. Boys are always mucking about down the cathedral, aren't they? Can't keep them away from the place. Filling their heads full of bygone beliefs and history. The little buggers. After the cathedral (which bored me stupid but Xander was utterly gripped by), Bennett and I decided to go to the comic shop. Xander is bound to love that, the wee scrapper. Xander was indeed excited to go there. That is, until his Mum and sister said that they were going to a new age stones and crystals shop. Xander LOVES new age stones. What six year old trouble-maker doesn't?
At least there wasn't swearing.
I saw Bennett the next night too and, God, did I wish I was still in the boring cathedral. We went to BAFTA to sit through a terminal and pointless discussion about the Jonathan Ross/Russell Brand "fiasco" and its effects on television. Why they didn't discuss the Sex Pistols swearing on the Bill Grundy show I can only guess? Or the invention of fire? Some cunt (and that was his real name) from the Daily Telegraph said that it was unthinkable that these two broadcasters could abuse a man who's parents had fled to the UK to avoid the Nazi's. Yeah, Some Cunt, their son got a crank phone call. I'm sure they wished they'd stayed and faced Hitler. Anyway, the long and the short of it was that six dullards actually thought that this, something the rest of the world has now forgotten about and moved on from, was a strong enough subject to talk about. I left after 20 minutes. Which is slightly longer than that story existed in the press.
Can I recommend a couple of things, please? I'm loving The Trap's podcast (found at www.thetrap.co.uk) and I think I might be in the latest one. I might not, of course. Also, Robin Ince's blog is always excellent and now seems to be exclusively on Facebook. It might not, of course. It's a very informative blog. How else would I know how young Stephen K. Amos (34) and Rhod Gilbert (32) were? Very funny.