The Market Place and Galloping Middle Age

In keeping with the “Classic-Patgod” habit of ignoring football as much as possible we take a moment away from the hissing cauldron of fevered expectation at the start of the new season to cast an eye further afield within our fair Borough.

Anyone passing the almost permanent worksite on Sheep Street will hardly fail to notice that the new-look market place is nearing completion. Lots of steps, slopes and er, flat bits, with a weird transparent roof in one corner. I’ve got to admit; the whole thing is less disagreeable than I thought it would be.

Of interest to Poppies fans is the mention of the Club’s founding within the “Kettering Timeline” which is a section of specially carved stone slabs making up part of the new surface of the market area. It’s a nice touch, but as I looked over this slab and the rest of the market place only one thought kept intruding into my thoughts –

“How quickly will our shit-thick, retarded youths take to f*ck this place up?”

Have you reached that age too? When your cool, right-on, leftie outlook suddenly takes a giant lurch to the right? One day you’re campaigning for a free South Africa, and the next day you find yourself nodding along to David Cameron or instinctively believing what you read in the Daily Mail. The fact you are actually reading the Daily Mail is a bad enough sign in itself, letting alone agreeing with it.

I can’t exactly pinpoint when I became a boring middle-aged, right-wing reactionary, but these days I find it takes an enormous effort of will power not to twat those gurgling, guffawing, thick-voiced, teen scuzz-buckets every time I see one. Every time I pass one of those braying, hoodie-wearing gumbies at the very least I feel the need to mock them, and on my black-dog days, I want to stomp on their stupid pimply faces until I develop a serious Achilles injury.

Is it just me, or are young people really annoying?

Hanging around in chuckling herds, moaning about having “nothing to do”, and acting as though they are the only generation to have discovered alcohol. Of course they have nothing to do. Occupying yourself takes a modicum of intellect. Nothing to do? These ungrateful, dull-eyed cabbages don’t know they’re born! When I was their age I didn’t have a million different computer game systems, mobile phones, facebook, twitter, all weather football pitches, athletics facilities, 10-screen cinemas, skate-parks, and the dozens of other facilities laid on to keep these dribbly dullards entertained.

All my generation had was Wicksteed Park up the age of 13 and masturbation thereafter, but we all grew up OK. And had curiously firm handshakes.

Instead of occupying themselves with one of the numerous entertainment avenues open to them, the flower of our youth prefer binge-drinking, teen pregnancy, knife crime and thieving. It doesn’t bode well for our species, does it?

Mind you, if one of them finds themselves unable to resist nicking the Kettering Town slab from the Kettering Timeline on the market place, I’m sure I could take it off their hands for a couple of cans of Stella.

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"Huh, huh, huh, wicked!"

F*ckwits