Nouvelle Hague

 My window on the world is somewhat compromised. Most days the only person I see is Susan. She is quiet. The other day, Joe came round and it was like someone had thrown a petrol bomb through the window. It took me about half an hour to acclimatise. I spent most of the evening discussing the merits of the hosts of The Golden Shot. That's how we roll.  

Mostly I interpret the universe through the prism of social media. I know, I'm the ultimate patsy for the modern world. I've probably been radicalised, but I don't know what for, or by whom. I do know the Lynx Fine Fragrance Collection advert off by heart ("Smell finer than the finest fragrances...") and I'm the country's leading authority on Tena Discreet Silhouette Noire. What does this mean? What is any of this for? 

Oh, and Brian Bilston poems. Hundreds of them. Daily. 

They're all wearing them in the International Court of Justice...

When I'm on-line, I'm presented with a lot of content I wouldn't seek out for myself. I don't know why. I get a lot of Irish comedians talking about their "Mammies". I get women with blue hair telling me their ADHD quirks. Today I had a video called, "Getting pulled over in Australia" ( I don't drive, I've never been) and a woman filming her English boyfriend being baffled by what she called a "mineral" (in Northern Ireland a "mineral" is a fizzy carbonated drink, what I would call "pop"). I have no idea why I'm presented with this cavalcade of drivel and I have no idea how to stop it. 

The worst is the "generation gap comedy bro" stuff. You'll have seen this: an American man acting out a scenario, and then putting on a variety of hats to represent Boomers, Gen X, Millennials and Gen Z. Is the last one Gen Z? Gen Y? Invariably the Boomer will be entitled and unruffled, Gen X snarky and persnickety, the Millennial fearful and insecure, and Gen Z just cancelling everything and walking away. 

Ha ha. HILARIOUS. 

You nailed us, with your lazy generalisations. 

I hate the portrayal of Gen X. Eye-rolling, tutting, wearing a fucking Beanie. Dressed in black. Trusting no one, but never bucking the system. Listening to fucking Papa Roach, by the look of them. You get these arseholes - always men - doing this: "We were the last of the latch-key kids. Our parents threw us out of the house until dinner, we climbed trees, skinned knees, got into fights, listened to College Radio and Van Halen's 1984, and are somehow a cool band of brothers that likes to get together for a few brewskis in our capped sleeve plaid shirts and reminisce about Citizen Dick. Good times, man."  

That's not me. 

I don't wear hats. I don't enjoy sports metal. I've never had a goatee or a soul patch. I dressed like Kramer in the 90's. The Seinfeld one. I was listening to Coleur Cafe and Esquivel and Tindersticks and Digable Planets. Whenever I could stay inside the house and draw and read and watch telly, I did that. I didn't feel any particular need to poke a stick into a corpse by the old riverbank. We didn't have College Radio where I grew up, and Van Halen was anathema to me. I was watching the films of Peter Greenaway and reading Love and Rockets while you were getting your tongue pierced. 

And yet I'm Gen X. 

I don't really fit into your Petrie Dish shallow box, TickTock internet bro. And your baseball cap's on backwards, by the way.

 Oh, you intended to do that. 

Like Willam Hague. 

Right.