Selective anger, not talk not that never now

I forgot about this one while writing my last entry.

Scene: Somewhere on the DLR, there are three people in the carriage. A mid-40s couple and a vacant exile.

trkity-trik, trikity-trik
m40c-dude: Here (Editor’s note: a Lahndahn drawl), we wanna get off here? Here? At Heron Cuh-Ways?
me: It is pronounced keys
m40c-dude: Eh? Shat up, ya fuckin’fackin’ Mick. I doan give a fuckfack. (Editor’s note: At which point the train stops and they do get off, so no beatings were administered.)

See, the thing is, I never even knew I had said it out loud. But really.

Then we have the other point that always floats through my head when talking to certain people. I get to hear new concepts, new stories, new ways and means. Bits and pieces on what others are doing, what they have read and learned. (As an aside, I was ganged up on by Tony and Cassandra on satdeh night/sunday morn, trying to convince me that Big Brother is actually the complex interplay of yadayadayada. And even if I didn’t watch it, I should watch the shrink analysis of the week’s events on Sunday eve. I did try. I sat on the sofa beside the Delphic one, but, but, but. But there was a book to my left that I hadn’t finished, so I read that instead. I did try. Which leads me on to.)

I am out of touch with modern culture. I am aware only of the umbrella song Ed hates through PopBitch. I haven’t heard it. The list of televisual shows and people that others talk about that I know nothing of is rather long. I am aghast that I know little of the best of the current throwaway pop choonery. As I am a fan of great throwaway pop choonery, despite my indie elitist pretensions.

Then we have my reactions to events and places. Oh, I make no bones about being middleclass, nor do I wish to try and deny it. I will leave the sneering to the self-delusionists. But Cambridge-Town breeds a very different kind of middleclass-ness.

So I wonder if I am a case study, and I would love to see the report. As then I could change if needs be, be better, more devious. Bend the world to my will. But I don’t want the internal inconsistencies righted. I doubt I would be me then, would I?

And hey! I sound nothing like that, although on remarking on another great person we know, and how sometimes I find his writing a bit disjointed, the old pots and kettles were rattled at me. Pah.

Divide by ten