In which UberGrumpy's kids impress him mightily with their vast arsenal of juicy cussin' words.
A pub in Greenwich; a pleasant dinner with the kids. It’s a traditional family meal, i.e., I am paying.
The wine and conversation flow freely. We get around to TV. I have been watching Charlie Brooker's jolly good "Black Mirror" series recently. What does everyone think? We all share a positive opinion, which is a relief, as strong opinions abound in this family, and sparks can fly. For now, familial harmony reigns.
Until, that is, I casually mention that I think the overwhelmingly sweary dialogue often gets in the way of the plot.
Warning: from now on this post, necessarily, turns a bit blue. To save your blushes, I substitute the words “Farage” and “Corbyn” for you-know-what.
“For Farage’s sake,” pipes up no.1 daughter. “Your generation. Honestly. We don’t even notice the odd Farage. Brooker may be a bit of a Corbyn, but he writes a Faraging good story, so who cares if the language gets a bit colourful? I think I’ll have the Chateaubriand1.”
No.2 son chimes in. “Too Faraging right. You guys are Faragewits in this department. Get into the 21st century, and catch up with the rest of the Faraging world, I say. Let’s have some more wine.” (It’s a snip at £32 a bottle).
And now, the plot thickens; we introduce euphemisms "sherbet" and "Crunchie" for their scatological four-letter cousins.
“Don’t be a sherbethead,” retorts no. 1 son to no. 2 son. “That’s a load of Faraging Crunchie. It’s not your generation, it’s just those two.” He gives us some advice. “You should stop reading the Faraging Daily Mail for a start. It’s written by Corbyns, and is a pile of Crunchie and full of bullsherbet. Try the foie gras, it’s Faraging splendid.”
“Neither of us have ever read the Daily Mail, and watch your language,” points out Mrs G, sensitive to the wide-eyed old ladies at the next table, but her voice is lost in the din of battle.
Say hello to "Twiglet", standing in for a word which begins like, well, Twiglet, and rhymes with flat.
No. 2 son defends himself, and us, after a fashion. “Sherbethead yourself, Twigletfeatures. Everyone over the age of twenty-seven has their head up their arsenic2. It’s not their fault, it’s just how they were brought up, the poor Twiglets. Thatcher’s3 children.”
They’re right of course. We are hopelessly out of date. The bill comes, and it seems quite dear. We’re in a pub. Should I add a tip?
No. 1 daughter heartily slaps me on the back. “Of course you should,” she advises. “Get with it, Dad. This isn’t Faraging 1983.”
Quite.
1 - OK, this is not true. She’s a vegetarian.
2 - Take a wild guess.
3 - This is not a cussword, this is someone’s name.
I'm with son No1 apart from the dread accusation of reading the Daily Fail... as if!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteSo you like foie gras? Me too
ReplyDeleteYou'd probably swear a bit more if you were considered a 'millennial' - the generation of anxiety and overdrafts, considered lazy and overly liberal by the 'baby boomers' who just don't understand what these entitled little shits have to complain about. (fun fact - statistically speaking we are the first generation to end up poorer than our parents).
ReplyDeletePS - thanks for the meal, made a nice change from beans and pot noodles.
What? At your age I lived in a shoebox in t' middle of t' road
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAnd by the time I'm YOUR age - I'LL be the one living in a shoebox in t'middle of t'road.
ReplyDeleteYour kids are facing a life of constant downgrades. Example - you can now buy a Railcard to last you until you're 30. Huzzah! Horray! That means that even though we'll all probably have to work until we're 75, at least our commute from our rented houses will be slightly cheaper for a small portion of it.
Fucking rubbish isn't it. (I would use your nice 'Faraging' substitute here but I spent my weekly food budget this morning on some peanuts so I'm really fucking hangry1)
1 - hangry
ˈhaŋɡri/Submit
adjectiveinformal
bad-tempered or irritable as a result of hunger.
You can borrow my shoebox if you like. It's in the loft. Totally agree re: the railcard - what a load of old bollyhocks
ReplyDeleteOne of my friends lives in a van in Bristol. He gave £550 for it. He cannot drive but he has it taxed, insured and MOT d, at least until May. Sounds like even cheaper living than I managed in London as a student (which he is not). He works in a climbing centre (where he showers and poos) and saves his money for travel, which is shed loads cheaper than when I was young.. Just saying.
ReplyDeleteNice! I might buy one and put it in our garden, and try the same trick
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