In which G.M. Norton is invited to partake in a brilliantly British tradition - moaning.
Fellow Vintage Manchester blogging finalist, Helen off of Mancunian Vintage, recently invited me by way of ‘blog tagging’ to commentate on the declining conundrums of society.
As a glass-half-full sort of chap (especially if it contains single malt), I prefer not to focus on the negativity of modern life. Although by harking back to days gone by, I suppose I am already doing so, if indirectly.
Of course, if moaning was a national sport then Britain would be on the podium spraying champagne before complaining about the mess it was creating. As I consider myself to be as British as the last slice of cucumber in a glass of Pimm’s, I have allowed myself a brief break in jolly transmissions and present to you the three things that get my undergarments in a twist.
Ah, the scourge of the streets, the thorn in my flesh. Now, please don’t misunderstand me – I am all for people who would normally struggle getting out and about having means to do so. I just wish it didn’t involve mortal danger.
|Danger! High Voltage|
I read a story in the local newspaper last year where an elderly chap in a mobility scooter was involved in a hit and ‘run’ with a young lady on her way to work. Rather than stopping to check on her well-being, the ‘driver’ made a swift getaway, running over the poor damsel for a second time.
This year, one like-minded fair maiden fed up with dancing with death, even resorted to submitting a petition to Downing Street.
People who don’t give up their seat on public transport
We know who they are. The bad apples who refuse to give up their seat on public transport when a dear old lady comes on board, preferring to hide behind their mobile telephones and other electronic equipment.
My beloved encountered this very such problem almost every day when she was heavily pregnant with our youngest.
The rotters. Or to paraphrase Terry-Thomas, “What an absolute shower!”.
Plain bad manners
On a conjoined topic, too many people these days have a complete disregard for good manners. Now the country may be on its uppers but that is no excuse for dropping the most basic social skills of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.
This week, my gentlemanly ears pricked up with news of a new hero in town, Captain Manchester to be precise. This comic-reading fellow is sadly unemployed but being a decent sort, he’s trying to make my home city a nicer place by actually helping other people.
From reading about him on the Twittering Device, Captain Manchester has carried out a number of helpful acts such as assisting students trying to move a settee and taking people’s bins out. I applaud his selfless spirit.
I admit, it is a shame that his superhero ensemble veers so dangerously to leisurewear but one can’t have it all. I did suggest to him the notion of tweed for the colder months but he didn’t seem convinced on being able to achieve the freedom of movement he is used to.
|The outfit for heroes|
So, there you have it.
Now it seems that I need to ‘tag’ others into this moaning malarkey. So I pass it on to the following good eggs:
Protagonist of ‘Norton of Morton’
Protagonist of ‘Norton of Morton’
P.S. Chumrades, if you’ve not already done so, I would be extremely grateful if you could lend me your vote for Best Vintage Lifestyle Blog. Voting ends 30 September. Many thanks!