|>>|| No. 23838
>>23788 - TRIGGERED
TL/DR: I came as Super Hans and will leave Malcolm Tucker. As such, I stand out like a broken toenail, even among the three of us locals here. Like with rallies, noncing and financial crime, the English don't even ban me, because having the chance while nothing comes of it hurts mo'betta. Rubbing shoulders with my fellow Slav on a regular basis, this feeling is of a more generic nature than my own antics induce. My 30s a mess of loneliness in culture and emotional deprivation, I am glad to have moved out of the way from where that was supposed to be different. Erstwhile people and venues went faster down that road than I. But that is more of a pyrrhic chip to shoulder. Be yourself, no matter etc.
Always was the best English speaker about at a given time - growing up around GI brats, stroking my teary, lonesome soul to Blake and Auden in 'difficult years' and chuckling at Rowan and Ricky later, trolling b3ta (ask your dad) or making a leg on Soulseek (ditto.) You know, the 'helping teachers with vernacular, doctoring essays for a camberwell carrot' kind of git. And here, three steps from the Eurolines, asking something trivial from passers-by, just to get my bearings. But they all sound like http://vocaroo.com/i/s1K72R7RfuXs
A decade and some onward, my finding is: things are in a decaying orbit. Not only is it profoundly unappealing to either be stuck with the anxiously raucous man-child toffs that would tick ones 'age * degree + tastes' or the bug eyed Kerouac metastases that come with my subculture and political drum-beating. It's simpler, though. The Englishman has suffered centuries of crystallising social and regional diversity into an easy guide of whom to mistrust. From the 'fuck the poor' snobism in politics and commerce, to the endearingly patronising perspective on ARE FORRINM8S. That said, the lads that most openly told me to fuck off back home (Bethnal Green? Or perhaps Barnet? Chistlehurst was rather nice..) were themselves third generation pariahs.
With all my socials Orwelled out of town, Fiddler to (rip in peace) Fabric, the scumwork of pints and sarnies left to a younger, more desperate demographic, I have not met a Brit on matey terms for years. Kiwis, Canucks and Irish, yep, many new arrivals from Yurop and the Chinkywogs who get along beautifully. Their attitude to British values doesn't mind "die feine englische Art" past the chips, bowler hat, orroighmaet thing. Never had to. Pundits from RSA to Shoreditch make it clear: neoliberal posturing immunises our (apologies for that word) society to tick boxes on how to treat the alien and peculiar. The dialogue and (oh yes) conflict it takes to actually be in this together has been choked since New Labour. Which are Thatcher quoted as her most important legacy.
Sorry for the loose lips. The missus is abroad, haven't had a natter in a week.
Ahh, the golden days - PradeEEEep and the ancient old geezer with his missus, to epic voicepop abuse, sexy Talula.. Without discovering those and their free-for-all improbanter, I probably wouldn't have stayed. These days, all rather more Evening Standard, really. Cheers though.
I feel you fam. After a binge of East and North Lahndin art school type shitholes - a new, professional/family life in Harlow. Makes the worst chem hangover feel a minor shortage of tinnies. The whole borough feels like a toddlers lunch break of urban construction. Slappers and geezers, flanked by the Father Ted massive and the odd enclave of stupid money. Local aunties stop talking and gaze, fighting-dog propelled potato heads splutter 'Gipsy' behind my back, empty places feel more rapey than rural boozers fighty. Airport is close though. I clench my rosebud around the safety rope that is Brexit. Which is funny because it's an 8/10 commie construct. Practically Croydon-upon-Nature. Hang on..
Circular training with youtube.com/watch?v=NvpbW7JRu0Q - soundcloud.com/nosuchthingasafish - some Frankie Boyle for stretches. Lad, have I seen you at the gig of a certain ginger lad and his manic bird last month? If so, that shirt made my day. Tribal pride levels: НЕ ФИ ГА СЕ БЕ