I am a fake. I have been educated to a degree (not a university one) and have a basic general knowledge. I have a limited live vocabulary, but given time and thought I can scrape distant memories of words and phrases from the back and beyond of my brain and construct a more ear worthy sentence. The only thing about me that's quick (ish) is my wit (peers told me-not bragging). What you see on here is a mask. Not an attempt to deceive like an internet groomer, but an attempt to contribute.
(It has taken me three fucking hours to write that)
We had conversed maybe for the past eight years. Never met. In the beginning it was an abrasive www. relationship. I was the NKOTB and he was the old hand. I'd missed six years of conversation and he was a member of the (now) legendary 'Clique.' The 'Clique' were not to be messed with. They'd shouted Brown out and courted Amy the Hammerette. What did he think of me? Fuck knows.
What did I think of him?
Well let's look at the clues...... (said in my best Lyod Grossman)
Fiercely patriotic. Opinionated (very). Intelligent reasoning (not always right - never wrong). Occasionally very funny (which appeared to be out of character), Have I said patriotic? Charitable (I once called him a bucket wielding cunt as a compliment). Someone to have standing next to you in the trenches (if only just to give you a leg-up to get out)
Well I computed all that and came up (in my head) with a cross between Peter Sellers in 'I'm Alright Jack' and someone you'd find round about chucking out time at a Bad Manners gig. Basically an old skinhead. Nothing wrong with old skinheads. Some of my best friends are..... err ..... going bald a bit, which is skinhead-ish.
I was curious to meet him and at the same time a bit nervous in case he remembered the bucket wielding cunt comment and punched me in the face. My one eye on the door spotted him enter. He was being met and greeted by Gonzo. I was a fair distance away but could still see that I had a grossly mistaken mental picture of him. Out of nervous apprehension I blurted his moniker out. Loud. It was met with a fleeting glance which said 'who's that soppy cunt shouting?' and then he continued conversing with Gonzo. Prick. Prick. Fucking prick (me that is) Contrary to someone else's interpretation of the colour spectrum my face went bright red. I could feel it. I envied those already on their way to inebriation. I would have had an excuse then for my nobby actions.
It was a while until I plucked up courage to speak to him (hoping he'd forgotten my mongy outburst). He was younger than me (or he'd had work) and was very clean cut, appeared to have all his own teeth, and not a pair of braces in sight. 'I'm Avit.' We shook on it and I breathed a sigh of silent relief and relaxed.
'I thought you were going to be an old skin'ead with a pair of Doc's and nose the shape of a boot' I confided with new found confidence. 'Nah,' never been like that. "How about the clique then?' I continued, digging a fucking great big hole just when we we're getting on. 'Nah,' just normal blokes.
He then confessed that I was the one he was intrigued to meet because of my cryptic style of prose. He said he imagined that I would be above all the others ( not sure whether he meant intellectually or height wise ) and have a panama hat and be smoking a cigar, or be smoking a panama cigar and wearing a hat.... I can't remember. Orsen Wells maybe? I bet there was a cravat involved as well. At last I was was having a normal conversation. All I hoped was that he didn't start talking about politics. I don't understand or profess to know anything on the subject. Or history. Or geography (I'm beginning to sound thick).
'Well? Are you out or in?' he randomly asked Jacko who was kind of slumped at the bar. The question had a rabbit in the headlights effect on him. Poor Jacko. Four pints is not very good preparation for a political debate when facing a master of debate (tried to get a joke out of that). He was in the opposite camp to Jacko, and despite being pushed for a reason Jacko stood his ground (right next to the chips). I bravely admitted being the only one to agree with Jacko, but unfortunately after giving my (selfish) reason it turns out that I'm treating everyone to a fucking holiday.
Never have I met such an intellectual giant as the author of this thread. It was an honour to meet him. I could tell as soon as I entered the Railway Tavern that afternoon that this was a man of deep thinking. The panama hat was just an adornment.
And it was a further honour to walk back to the station with him. The conversation will be long in my memory.
A. Pale. Do you agree that scepticism was the greatest ideaology to emerge from the Postmodernism movement relating to the enlightenment rationality in the human mind ?
Me. What cunt put vinegar on the chips ?
A. Interesting view. And do you think Orwell, a huge opponent of social injustice, as you can see in '1984', would now be termed a 'corbynista', or would he merely be a centre-left progressive more in tune with the meaningful problems of the current age if he were alive today ?
Me. There were some ugly fuckers there weren't there ?
A. Indeed. Well, If Keynsian economics, in particular the practice of macroeconomics were applied in the turbulent cauldron of today's economics, and applied to the letter, do you think they'd have any relevance to society as a whole ?
Me. That's a fucking nice hat.
A. Hmmmm. Ok, As you must know, the Proustian 'involuntary memory trigger' theory is now reckoned by some leading academics to be valid. Do you think his novel 'A la Reserche du Temps' highlighted this view or was it, as many opponents think, a self-indulgent diatribe of meaningless personal experiences ?
Me. We're at the station now. I go that way. You're me best fucking mate.
