Christmas Scrooge

Sometimes I sit and write these, read them back and realise what a miserable fecker I can be. Still, I get a perverse amount of pleasure from it :)

Today's subject, PEACHES GELDOF wannabes. Being in the presence of one is like pinning your eyelids to cacti and walking in the opposite direction.

My closest encounter with one of these middle class rankathons was at The Boosh gig in the 02. I don't know the official ranking system for being a Peaches Geldof clone but I have my own set of rules that get you the label:

Wearing a collection of clothes you refer to as 'Vintage' (but are more often than not from topshop)
Talking loudly in an accent that comes under the brackets of 'Twat'
Looking and sounding like all your friends
Only going to gigs you think no-one else goes to and then telling everyone about it
Going to Camden and giving everyone with pink hair a dirty look in between looking to bump into Amy Winehouse, who you think will really 'dig' you
You won't put a genre on music, you just like bands....you won't even tell us what bands.
You drink lemonade when you go out 'drinking' as you are still only 15
You have no personality, you are without personality, you are a blank page covered in vintage tat

Anyway that's some of it, I could go on for days. So this plank next to me forces a laugh out everytime Noel Fielding even blinks, at one point I could swear I heard the familiar thud of a lung being coughed up she was laughing so hard. So forced. In the end she was laughing when the interlude lights came on, just because she could. She also watched a lot of THE MIGHTY BOOSH at home, alot.
When the first chime of a song kicked in she would jump up and down, scream a bit and then begin to sing...sadly the silly cow hadn't realised some of the lyrics has been altered and continued to sing along loudly, with the wrong lyrics, at the wrong pitch, in my f*cking ear.

I have something to say to these girls

Tossers

:)