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Awards News
Oct. 12th, 2005 07:07 pmLive from the Twatties (awards for those in any walk of life who achieve success as a pain in the arse) we have a presentation:
The Award for Most Repulsive Child In A Majorly Irritating Role (age group 7-10) goes to the little bugger on the 12:10 from Ely to Cambridge today.
This boy (about 8 or 9, I;d say) talked, at the top of his voice, constantly - as if this wasn't bad enough, his voice was a kind of constant whine. "I'm hungry", "I want another biscuit", and perhaps best of all, "The sun's too bright" (perhaps you'd like us to have a word with God and get him to turn it down, eh?).
The parents, as far as I could tell, were of the Dr Spock persuasion, to whom everything is for explanation, and the exercise of discipline an anathema. For instance, when the child started pulling his mother's hair, she mildly said "Now then Adam - I don't mind cuddles, but I don't like hair-pulling very much". Staright out of Joyce Grenfell - but the children Joyce Grenfell was talking about were aged three or four, not eight or nine...
It was quite an achievement really - fifteen minutes of travelling in the same space as this little twerp and a carriageful of apparenmtly normal, well-adjusted people had become cheerleaders for the Child-Catcher.
Yes, maybe this is none of my business. But as soon as anyone enters a space which affects me, I become a stakeholder in their behaviour, and if there behaviour is invasive, I have the right to form my own opinions as to whether it's irritating or not. If kids want to scream blue murder around me, I don't mind it if it's outside or (just about) in alargeish expanse like a shopping centre. But in trains, libraries, churches and museums, I want peace and quiet, dammit...
The Award for Most Repulsive Child In A Majorly Irritating Role (age group 7-10) goes to the little bugger on the 12:10 from Ely to Cambridge today.
This boy (about 8 or 9, I;d say) talked, at the top of his voice, constantly - as if this wasn't bad enough, his voice was a kind of constant whine. "I'm hungry", "I want another biscuit", and perhaps best of all, "The sun's too bright" (perhaps you'd like us to have a word with God and get him to turn it down, eh?).
The parents, as far as I could tell, were of the Dr Spock persuasion, to whom everything is for explanation, and the exercise of discipline an anathema. For instance, when the child started pulling his mother's hair, she mildly said "Now then Adam - I don't mind cuddles, but I don't like hair-pulling very much". Staright out of Joyce Grenfell - but the children Joyce Grenfell was talking about were aged three or four, not eight or nine...
It was quite an achievement really - fifteen minutes of travelling in the same space as this little twerp and a carriageful of apparenmtly normal, well-adjusted people had become cheerleaders for the Child-Catcher.
Yes, maybe this is none of my business. But as soon as anyone enters a space which affects me, I become a stakeholder in their behaviour, and if there behaviour is invasive, I have the right to form my own opinions as to whether it's irritating or not. If kids want to scream blue murder around me, I don't mind it if it's outside or (just about) in alargeish expanse like a shopping centre. But in trains, libraries, churches and museums, I want peace and quiet, dammit...
