WAIT A MINUTE.. HOLD THE PHONE! I am both shocked, and indeed appalled, at the events that took place on this day, 25/9/2010.
It all happened so fast, in broad daylight. And I'm lost for words (apart from these actual real ones before you, otherwise you're possibly hallucinating and this blog doesn't even exist, weirdo).
I was casually walking along with my ladyfriend/carer, laughing at something completely hilarious I had said (possibly a really big and clever one liner about the recession, or cats that look like fascist dictators), just kicking our heels along and enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells (mainly smells) of Truro. We were just so damn lost in the moment, that the trio of youths approaching us from the rear (steady on) went unnoticed. Until...
"Oi, mate. You're shoelace is untied!"
Words that will haunt me, for the rest of my life, or at least until a week on Wednesday.
It was all i could do to rotate this noggin of mine, smile weakly and thank the young lady (whom I will assume was the ringleader), and quicken my pace, taking my companion with me. I very nearly ran blindly into the road, like a lesbian on heat.
'But why, Adam, why so afraid?', I hear you ask. Calm the fuck down! I'll tell you.
I'm 27 now, awfully near 30. Anyone under the age of 25 scares me. I have a three year old niece, and I'm not going to lie, I just plain don't trust her.
It could be that all her laughter EVER is clearly aimed at 'silly old uncle adam', and I don't mean cutesy Disney laughter, but the laughter of hate. Or maybe the times she has ploughed her Dora the Explorer push chair square into my face. I couldn't tell you.
So 16-21 year olds? Forget it.
Today, I was gripped by cold. irrational fear, because it would appear they just didn't want me to trip over said shoelace and fall on my fanny. They didn't want my wallet or phone (to be honest, I dont even want my phone, its the mobile communication equivalent of Schindler's List On Ice), and my cartoonish face and dancer's gait didn't even register a snigger from them. You just know where you are with a stabbing or two sometimes.
I came away from the whole experience feeling significantly shortchanged, much like any time I take in an Adam Sandler film, you know, the one where Sandler writes himself an affable Johnny Everyman role, loved by the townspeople/coworkers/general passers-by, who all club together to help him bag Drew Barrymore, and he learns a lesson about life/love/whogivesashit, and stops being a general douche/slacker/pro-football player/insert non-descript meaningless adjective here , or something equally ridiculous.
I was borderline furious. Where was my 'Local Man Upset at Pesky Teenagers' headline, or my Jeremy-Kyle-worthy chav anecdote? What's it coming too? If its absolutely necessary for these people to have any need to communicate with me, I want it to be because of a mugging scenario, not an incessant need to advise me on my wellbeing and potential (and literal) downfall. I just don't trust it!
You know what'd sort them out? National Service.....
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