I recently heard a good story from someone about becoming a dad. After his child was delivered the man was handed the tiny baby, as the midwife did so she quickly checked the sex, and proudly said 'here's your big strong boy.' The father wondered if the midwife had delivered a girl whether she would have said 'here's your big strong girl.' Right from the first seconds of being born we are judged and compartmentalized.
The kids are revolting. And they are revolting against stereotyping by the media. That is so typical of them, what with their whining and their egotism and their thinking that they are the centre of the universe. Unless that is stereotyping, in which case I take it back (and taking things back is typical of the lilly-livered, spineless middle aged).
The London Underground. It's dusty, it's grimy and it's full of people's body odours that I care not to sample. If i wanted your armpit shoved up against my chin, i'd be in a relationship with you. Then there are the breed of people who think it's acceptable to eat curries/pasties/burgers in such a confined place. This was my horrific experience recently:
Arms like Thor's hammer, brain of Einstein's descendant, heart of a thousand puppies. Financial analyst, serious Apple geek, proud PS4 owner, a fantastic motorcyclist and an incredible person. I'm talking of course about my brother. Kind of feels like I'm writing this on an online dating profile at this point, but just go with it.
In a matter of swishes and swooshes, I am on a journey of rebirth. Banschik's (doctors) collect hot vapour spurting from the central stove and envelop your body in a cloud of steam, followed by intermittent veils of cooling air. Immediately after, cold water is poured all over your body before you are sent to plunge into a pool of 10°C ice cold water.
It's ludicrous that otherwise sane, rational people can invest so much emotional and financial capital in a day that they know is designed to fleece the consumer. More ludicrous still that we persist, despite the fact that everyone - single, attached, or 'it's complicated' - has a terrible time on Valentine's Day.
Certain happenings of late have got me thinking about etiquette. Take for instance the sorry state/lack of genuine "Hey, good morning. How are you?" in the workplace or the mass disruption of the tube strike by the RMT and TSSA unions. Better yet, a fellow journalist being trolled for getting Vincent Vinturi's "rape manual" eBook removed from Amazon.