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I am a careful man. I have to be for I am a warden of a religious building (yeah, fucking right!) which belongs to one of the “peace churches”. I am also now the designated first-aider. A day with St John sorted that. I sat next to a brace of lasses from the Hallé Orchestra. They were first-aiding because they did the away-days for kids from rough parts of Manchester. So first question our teacher asks is, “What risks do you think you have in your work?”. when it comes round to my table the first to respond is an Irish fella who looks like Hugh Grant who works in a solicitor’s office. He is in fact a solicitor. He is a bit stumped until I suggest “cardiac arrest upon seeing the bill”. That broke the ice! Anyway the two orchestral lasses… Well, one of them piped-up, “We work with poor teenagers from Manchester… So anything really”. As Josey Wales put it, “Reckon so”.

Anyway, and this is in a sense a response to RAB’s most excellent post just below. Kids. Kids eh? Kids! I am 37 and unbelievably childish but I got nowt on da kids. The children really are childish.I know they can’t help it and I only annoy myself when it is adults who believe utter wank. But for every tosser who studied the Mystery of Art in Fife there is a Nick and there is RAB – Physics and Law, Nottingham. That is a terrifying combo.

But to riff on what RAB said over a rather cheeky Merlot and a fag… Well a couple of weekends ago these disgustingly middle-class kids were driven in their C-Maxs here for the “children’s meeting” and all Hell let loose in the grounds and it is me that has to ensure these bundles of joy go home in approximately one piece. This is harder than you might think. You have to delete the natural “fucks” from the discourse for a start. Not least because “Don’t go in the fucking river” is both morally wrong and right. But even if it was right it wouldn’t work. What would work is if I took my pants down in front of the lads and lasses and asked them to look at the scar on my inner thigh… It’s kinda special and the sort of thing kids love. I was extremely lucky. That was a whisker away from my femoral artery. What else a rusty iron L-piece was close to (at 9.81m/s/s) doesn’t bear thinking about. Though I’d be seen as some sort of fiddler.

Nah… Da kids…
The kids loved it. They played in the garden and one of the lads said, “We’re building a prison for the girls from bamboo” (what I had cleared). Yes, dear readers, it was fucking Tenko on my watch. So this is a peace church and these are the most middle-class kids in Cheshire. And they are still little bastards.

Makes me proud to be English. Not even “peace churches” can stop the viiolence.


  1. Good on ya! reminds me of the anecdote about Dahl. “Cant stnd the beasts” he said. ‘Course he was the great writer of childrens’s fiction at the time.

  2. JuliaM says:

    “So this is a peace church and these are the most middle-class kids in Cheshire. And they are still little bastards.”

    The toys may change through the generations (couple of sticks vs Nintendo Wii) but the nature of them never does…

  3. NickM says:

    Actually Julia what struck me was the method of play was the same. You give an eight year old lad a bamboo pole and it becomes a sword. It did for me in 1979 and it did for them in 2011. It must literally kill parents. You work your tits off to buy little Johnnie a PSP only to watch the tyke amusing himself for the full Saturday with a cardboard box.

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