No. 2 The Youth of Today

By design, the youth of today have always been a feckless bunch. A clamour of ill-garbed, sweaty ne’er-do-wells, who seem unable to communicate in anything approaching a semblance of the Queen’s English. That’s to be expected; it’s their job. A job funded by dads across the land and rewarded with a modest stipend referred to as ‘pocket money’.

This current lot though, they seem to be taking their remit far too seriously.

At present, the youth of today are largely divided into two groups. The common or garden Chav or Chavette; and the slightly androgynous (the boys, anyway) lot that go by the name of Emo. Of course, there are assorted other factions such as Goths, geeks, spongs, etc. But it these two groups that appear to be winning the hearts and the minds of the youth of today.

Now the bizarrely named Emos are by and large a surly lot who are barely worth a mention in such a hallowed hall as this. They listen to music that’s essentially wetter than Blackpool in October; they wear impossibly tight drainpipe jeans and stripy T-shirts, giving them the look of someone you might find hanging around the public urinals on Hampstead Heath; they sport barmy haircuts, often dyed or highlighted in peculiar fashions; they tend to stem from middle class and well-to-do families and counter this with assorted piercings; and they generally exude the aura that says a decent might just kill them. But hey, what is to be expected from a demographic that takes its name from a slightly creepy American stand-up?

In stark comparison, the Chav is an altogether more dangerous beast. They are the ones putting in the overtime when it comes giving the youth of today a bad name.

The Chav can usually be found loitering. It’s what they do best. It doesn’t matter where, if there’s opportunity to loiter the Chav will make the most of it. A particularly popular haunt is any small row of shops that’s home to an off-licence. If there’s not at least two Chavs loitering nearby then there’s something seriously wrong and it is advised you make haste to your home, lock all the doors and windows, and don’t venture out until the all-clear sirens have sounded.

A Chav can usually be identified by the either its hood, worn regardless of weather conditions, or a baseball cap perched at an impossibly jaunty angle. This customary headwear will generally be complimented by a cheap tracksuit in need of a good wash.

Chavs also like to throw stones. They like to throw bricks. Particularly at people’s houses or the windows of passing buses. This may or may not stem from a deep-rooted instinct to protect their territory from the marauding intruders; in this case, the Number 33 bus.

Chavs often communicate in an affected dialect, which strangely for a breed so often intolerant of outsiders and assorted ethnic groups, makes them sound as though they grew up (a misnomer?) in the yard of Kingston, Jamaica… And then were promptly smashed in the mouth with the business end of a housebrick.

Did I mention that the Chav loves his brick, and his stones – any sort of projectile will do so long as it can cause a modicum of damage. Oh, and they love their drugs. Whether it be cheap cider, skunk, charly, or whizz (can you still get whizz?). Skunk appears to be drug of choice, probably due to its ready availability and relative cost-efficiency. It is smoked ‘upstairs, back of the bus’, and accompanied by the latest hot tunes from the hit parade, blaring from the dominant Chav’s mobile phone.

The youth of today are not yesterday’s youth of today. Gone is the flick-knife wielding reliability of the Ted. The sharp-dressed, pill-popping smoothness of the Mod. The Rocker; the Hippy; the Punk; the Raver; they’ve all fallen by the wayside. They’ve all taken too many drugs, grown old, seen how this current lot are giving their legacy a bad name, and lost the will to live. Forgotten relics of a different, more innocent, time. Succeeded by the fop and the feral.

Badness often breeds badness; bad environments, bad parents. With so much badness about, one can only despair at what tomorrow’s youth of today will be like.

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