Now I admit that I am prone to the odd generalisation, occasionally even a touch of hyperbole (no, no, don't argue, I admit it). But a stroll into town with the boy last weekend provided me with troubling, worrying evidence that some generalisations are, well, right.
our route took us past the rugby club (ho ho, you cry, he's about to have a pop at rugby, favoured past-time of boorish chaps called Dan who believe they can tell a man's character from his handshake), now I have nothing against rugby (so yar boo sucks to you); I'm from Cornwall, it's practically a religion there, and in the same way as the sport transcends class in New Zealand, or cricket crosses every social divide in the yorkshire leagues, so it is with Cornwall and rugby (union, that is, I am in no sense trying to suggest that league is elitist, a little chippy perhaps, maybe even a touch parochial, yes, elitist, no). I grew up playing the sport, I've got a lot of time for it, it does a good job in instilling respect for your opponents, team-mates and officials. In fact, outside of the sainted cricket I'd suggest it's the best sport for keeping you firmly in your place (it always amuses me, and perhaps I'll return to the subject one day, that football, supposedly the sport of the working man, has more displays of prima-donnaism, pettiness and outright bad sportsmanship than pretty much every other sport combined. Yes Ashley Cole, I'm looking at you).
Where was I? Oh yes, the generalisation, let's get to that.
All people who drive SUV's are thoughtless, mindless soul drains with the self awareness of a particularly dense foetus. All of them. Dim, braying, cockfarmers devoid of the capacity for any thought beyond their immediate need. They should be exterminated. There.
Now, clearly, this isn't the case, just as it clearly isn't the case that everyone that shops at Asda is a Neanderthal (see Coastalblog passim). But, as an evidential observation I'm afraid it's bang on the money. I was attempting to get into town with my three year old son, who was in a pushchair. The rugby club was busy, the carpark was full, this I understand. A number of vehicles were parked on the road, this I also understand. Most were parked leaving a reasonable amount of pavement, enough for a pushchair to negotiate. Those that weren't, forcing me to push my son into the middle of the road? Bingo, every one an SUV, every one parked by a fucking idiot. At least two, hilariously, were actually parked flush to the garden walls, presumably having contained only a driver and rear passengers. Even more fun was the fact that one pulled onto the pavement, blocking it, actually past me, overtaking me in the process. Words ensued (polite ones, obviously, no rustic language in front of the boy just yet).
So leaving aside the fuel issues, the head scratching about why precisely you'd need a 4 by 4 if you're anything other than a farmer or park ranger, leaving aside even the wanker gangster connotations; on this evidence alone I am forced to conclude that anyone owning one of these things is an utter, copper-bottomed penis. Evidence to the contrary to the usual address please.
our route took us past the rugby club (ho ho, you cry, he's about to have a pop at rugby, favoured past-time of boorish chaps called Dan who believe they can tell a man's character from his handshake), now I have nothing against rugby (so yar boo sucks to you); I'm from Cornwall, it's practically a religion there, and in the same way as the sport transcends class in New Zealand, or cricket crosses every social divide in the yorkshire leagues, so it is with Cornwall and rugby (union, that is, I am in no sense trying to suggest that league is elitist, a little chippy perhaps, maybe even a touch parochial, yes, elitist, no). I grew up playing the sport, I've got a lot of time for it, it does a good job in instilling respect for your opponents, team-mates and officials. In fact, outside of the sainted cricket I'd suggest it's the best sport for keeping you firmly in your place (it always amuses me, and perhaps I'll return to the subject one day, that football, supposedly the sport of the working man, has more displays of prima-donnaism, pettiness and outright bad sportsmanship than pretty much every other sport combined. Yes Ashley Cole, I'm looking at you).
Where was I? Oh yes, the generalisation, let's get to that.
All people who drive SUV's are thoughtless, mindless soul drains with the self awareness of a particularly dense foetus. All of them. Dim, braying, cockfarmers devoid of the capacity for any thought beyond their immediate need. They should be exterminated. There.
Now, clearly, this isn't the case, just as it clearly isn't the case that everyone that shops at Asda is a Neanderthal (see Coastalblog passim). But, as an evidential observation I'm afraid it's bang on the money. I was attempting to get into town with my three year old son, who was in a pushchair. The rugby club was busy, the carpark was full, this I understand. A number of vehicles were parked on the road, this I also understand. Most were parked leaving a reasonable amount of pavement, enough for a pushchair to negotiate. Those that weren't, forcing me to push my son into the middle of the road? Bingo, every one an SUV, every one parked by a fucking idiot. At least two, hilariously, were actually parked flush to the garden walls, presumably having contained only a driver and rear passengers. Even more fun was the fact that one pulled onto the pavement, blocking it, actually past me, overtaking me in the process. Words ensued (polite ones, obviously, no rustic language in front of the boy just yet).
So leaving aside the fuel issues, the head scratching about why precisely you'd need a 4 by 4 if you're anything other than a farmer or park ranger, leaving aside even the wanker gangster connotations; on this evidence alone I am forced to conclude that anyone owning one of these things is an utter, copper-bottomed penis. Evidence to the contrary to the usual address please.
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