More birthday thoughts....

It was the third birthday of the blog yesterday and originally I had put this up then, but writing about the final DFC rather took over yesterday so I thought it best to move it.

Just looking through the first few weeks of doing this, it's amazing how horrible some of the writing is (and for all I know it hasn't really improved that much in the time since). But what I am proud of is how quickly this post on Wacky Warehouses appeared. In fact, here it is again - think of it as a birthday present:

Wacky Warehouses and the like........

God I hate them. On the plus side they're lovely for Molly and I can get a cup of coffee and a sit down. But the shit you have to put up with.....

If you didn't want children maybe you should have taken a little more care with contraception? Moronic parents with a pint in one hand and their mobiles glued to their ears whilst their 8 offspring wander around the wacky hitting my child. But heaven forbid the parent who points this out. The little chav devils can do no wrong in their chav parents eyes.

Of course, I say Chav parents, what I should have said was chav parent. Singular. Seemingly always singular. Which is not to say I have anything against single moms. But experience and observation lets me make some hideously sweeping generalisations about this.

Take, for example, the single mom in front of me. I'm assuming she's a single mom of course. But she's with a bloke and her child keeps calling her mom and him dave so it's either step dad or boyfriend or she's picked a really dumb place to have an affair.
Her: Chav, horrible, cheap chocolate brown velour tracksuit, hair pulled harshly back onto scalp, designer label clothes and shoes, two mobiles on the go constantly.
Him: short, shaven headed and having that vaguely threatening manner of a football hooligan in waiting. The sloping brow, the dull, lifeless eyes and the slightly disbelieving looks at anyone who flaunts their ability to read. Of course, the deciding factor is the crap birmingham city chain round his fat, corpulent neck.
Why do single moms always seem to go for this sort of bloke? Why do they always cling onto them in public, mauling each other with the same level of passion your laborador uses to greet you. Of course, after a little while this passion will transmute into violence and they'll spend hours wasting police and hospital time.

And possibly worse are the Harbourne mums and dads.
You all know the sort..... just insert your own area (West Bridgford mums for Nottingham I hear)
Middle class or at least want to be, organic/ free-range / hand-reared bioyoghurt, alternative remedies, packed lunches of celery sticks and carrot puree, french at 6 months, violin appreciation classes from birth, that sort of thing.

Just go down to the Botanical Gardens and observe the playground, it's all liberal attitudes and swirly chiffon skirts and desperately trying to outdo every other Harbourne mom there by signing your child up for Mongolian Yak farming courses or whatever is in-vogue that week.

They seem to find it impossible to discipline their children. At least the bloody chavs can't be arsed. Harbourne mums are worse, they've made a conscious decision to neglect this rather important aspect of parenting.......

"Little tarquin doesn't mean to kick everything he sees and run around shouting like a monkey on acid, it's just his nature."
Absolutely, his nature is to be an arrogant and aggressive fuckwit, just like his dad and an ignorant, pompous harpy like mommy.

And at least Chav kids are only running around MacDonalds causing havoc, Harbourne mom's little angels run around the restaurants I eat in.
And that really wont do.