To the balding middle-aged man on the tube tonight, with the heat rash on his receding pate, wearing his Bloc Party VIP back stage pass on his shirt so that everyone on the train could see that he had indeed been BACKSTAGE at the Bloc Party gig:
It's not cool to wear your backstage pass anywhere else than backstage, otherwise you look like a desperate attention-seeking nobody who needs the world to know that you have just been backstage at a Bloc Party gig.
(PS: wear your glasses: nobody wants to see your eyes rolling around in your head like some kind of one armed bandit)
Incidently, having spent the evening with a Colombian friend who observed that, in London "where I live, the people, they care more about their dogs and their alcohol than their children, or anything!" (to which I replied "welcome to England!").
Subsequently, the ride on the tube home was seen through fresh eyes. The post-pub Vomit Comet was like a contemporary Hogarth etching, crawling with inebriates, geezer birds, sots and after-work overimbibers to confirm that we are a nation in thrawl to the brewers.
Me? Just three glasses of Rioja, thankyou very much.
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