As we’re growing up, ascending from being a gobby yoot to a mildly gobby adult, we learn about life and how to live it. The right way to do things and the way that will get you a spanking. But who makes these rules and why should we conform?
From a young age we’re commanded by our parents, our grandparents, aunts, uncles (Uncle Timothy was always a weird one, hated sitting on his knee to watch Dallas. Just didn’t feel right) and just about any other peer that felt the need to give us a slap sup side the head (or in Uncle Timothy’s case a gentle pat on the bottom) and reprimand us for not eating proper or not putting your forknknife down in the correct manner.
I hated being told what to do. I’d rather eat aubergine soup for breakfast. With chopsticks. But alas, I conformed, as did most of us. I steamed through puberty, fighting uncontrollable bus ride erections and perving over the new female P.E. teacher and not pinging bras of all the girls. (I’m lying, I became the master at the triple finger flick. Which also came in handy in adult life... for undoing bras, not foreplay! Well ok that too ) As we enter adulthood and our course in life turns towards work, yet again we are ordered to conform. This rule, that rule blah blah blah. But why? If I don’t put the office sharpener back in it’s spot is it going to spontaneously erupt into a huge explosion? No? Well I’m going to leave it right there. Next to that lady’s leg...
Why must we follow this path? “Because if you don’t, son, the world will implode and we’ll all die horribly” are words I never heard. What I did hear was “For fucks sake Shane just do what you’re told”. Why must this path have a set route: grow up, go to work, get married, have kids, keep working until you die.
Well I won’t do it anymore. I refuse. I will not conform. I’ve been there, got that t shirt, didn’t like it so now it’s going to the charity shop. From now on I am going to eat cheese like an apple. “Knife sir?” They’ll say if the restaurants ever open again. My reply shall boldly be “No thanks governor, I’m good with these fingers” as I pick up my Sunday dinner and stuff it into the Yorkshire pudding and pick it up with my BARE HANDS and eat it like a big floppy sandwich.
Why are you living in a van? Why don’t you live in a house like normal people? Well I say “look at me. I’m smiling! Look at you! You’re miserable. You have the face that resembles camels bollocks dangling in the hot sand.” I am no longer normal. I am non conformist. Ok so I’ll wash my hands and face before sex (and after probably) and I’ll do my teeth too but that’s hygiene. And probably feels better too. I’ll wear clothes too probably because no one wants to see a naked 45 year old in Asda down the chilled isle. Willy all turned inwards like a punched Bratwurst and a nutsack like a couple of walnuts left in the net.
But I won’t ever use a knife and fork again to eat cheese. I will slurp my coffee from a teaspoon and I will leave the toilet seat up. Ok I won’t do that because my poo floats. I guess what I’m trying to say is, how lovely would the world be if we just relaxed a little, lived a little. Get our nails dirty. Play with an axe in the woods. Eat marshmallows that have just been spontaneously toasted over a a mini fire on the park bench. Wear that same T-shirt over and over again if it’s your favourite. People will stare. Probably. Let them. Show them your helicopter trick. (Don’t do that actually, even though Uncle Timothy enjoys that performance immensely, the police don’t like it). Bust out that dance move like a deranged teenager in the middle of aisle 7. But let people stare. Eventually they’ll either smile or join you. (Or Uncle Timothy will pat you on the bum).
I’ve had a wonderful weekend non conforming, wearing my Marvel pjs unashamedly and eating my cheese like an apple. An hour ago in this dark car park I’m parked in for the night, I stripped naked, put my boxers back on because I didn’t want to get frost bite on my Mickey and laid in the snow. For about 15 seconds because the shock made me piss a little bit and then it froze. Yesterday I wouldn’t have done that because it’s not right. I’ve been chatting a lot, to a lot of you on messenger, but one person in particular has enlightened me to this new way of thinking. So thank you to that person! I may have gone a bit far with the cheese thing but hey, you’re not my mum, don’t tell me how to eat my cheese!
I’m off now to defrost my gentleman’s frozen sweet corn and I’ve just noticed they’re still a bit blue from the toilet chemicals. Actually I’m gonna leave em blue. It looks fun!
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