When I was a yoof you fell into one of two categories, either you were an honest upstanding member of the teenage fraternity (or sorority) content to pass the time drinking Heineken (or whatever else was on offer at Oddbins) in the woods, going halves on a packet of 10 B&H, working a dismal part-time job in order to save up the 55 quid it cost for a weekend ticket to Reading festival and making repeated attempts to score with girls who were doing that whole strappy dress with a t-shirt underneath layered over jeans thing...and probably failing.
The other option was to fall in with the mono-syllabic sportswear wearing greasy slicked down hair (probably with visible undercut) scumdog proto-chav untermensch who would congregate outside desperate provincial leisure centres like the Guildford Spectrum listening to happy hardcore, wearing Dosse Posse sweatshirts, bomber jackets emblazoned with the Fantasia logo and Fila trainers whilst constantly asking passers by if they were staring at you.
Things were simple...you were either with us or against us.
Sure, you might listen to Ned's Atomic Dustbin whilst your friend preferred NOFX, but you had a common enemy. What's with all of this nonsensical and erroneous talk of 'grungers' (who from what I can gather listen to third rate nu-metal), 'grebos' (I was actually around for grebo, it lasted for about 5 minutes, consisted of about 2 bands and involved at best 20 people in the East Midlands.....all of whom are now chartered accountants, probably) and 'plastics'? 'Plastics?'...we used to just call people like that cunts.
Someone on Channel 4 described themselves as an 'Urban Kid' the other day when it was clear that he was just a Wigger.
You know what I blame for all of this? That internetz.
Alex-in-Ciderland 29 and 1/4.