Yes, I am a cantankerous and miserable git that is easily annoyed, and every day I feel like I want to shoot someone. Maybe I should take a count, and at the end of a given period tally up my “victims”: from witless chavs through to clueless Rover drivers, it is sure to reach four figures within a couple of months.

I believe that rude people should have their faces firmly acquainted with a lump of fresh dog shit, and stupid people should have a large letter “S” branded on their foreheads – so you can only imagine what I think of people that are both rude and stupid.

This afternoon I ventured into the wilds of Rayners Lane (exciting, eh?) to pick up some lunch at Sainsbury’s – an activity that can truly be described as banal at the best of times. There was the usual cacophony accompanied by the monotonous beep-beep of the barcode scanners, but on this occasion my ears were assaulted by the high-pitched whine unique to teenage girls of a particular sort. Turning into the first aisle, there they were – gabbing away in that mix of televisionspeak (imagine here the monotone droning of someone like Jordan) and wigga slang – taking up the entire width of the aisle as an elderly lady was bravely attempting to make her way past.

Oblivious to the world around them and clearly enraptured by their witlessly inane dialogue, it had to take a curt “excuse me” from the old lady to elicit a reaction – cue the dull glint in otherwise vacant eyes, the inevitable slouch to the side and kissing of teeth. Yeah, fuckin’ old bitch gettin’ in the way of our conversashun, innit.

As I blundered my own way past them, I heard one of them exclaim that she had her “lesson” in four minutes – followed by yet another kissing of the teeth. It’s a sound that cannot be described in words, but those with an adverse reaction to it often end up wanting to put the offender’s eyes out before roasting them on a red-hot skillet. I had to wonder what lesson this moron and soon-to-be mass breeder was meant to be off to: it clearly wasn’t a lesson in manners or common bloody courtesy, that’s for sure.

So the fantasy death count begins – three down, many more to go. And I still have the drive home ahead of me…

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