Help the Aged...?

Waiting for a friend at Oxford Circus yesterday evening was possibly one of the single most horrific experiences in the history of waiting.

Central London at the best of times, never mind rush hour, is an asylum of fast-moving, rude people. I can’t deal with it – neither physically nor mentally.

People push and shove. And they get in my way. Perhaps my lad-back pace is sometimes a little too laid-back for London life?

I often feel as though I’ve been thrust into the bowels of hell where Lucifer and his minions continually pester me. And get in my way when I’m going places.

Don’t get me wrong, I love living in London. I just wish there was less people sometimes!

Anyway – Oxford Circus yesterday evening…

Not only was there a copious amount of people, but also there were also some idiots collecting for charity.

I call them ‘idiots’ because they were dressed in grass skirts and coconut bras. They were also male. And they would not be quiet!

“I’ve been standing here for 12 hours – I’m tired!”

I haven’t been home since 7.30am. I’m tired.

“Give me your coppers and five pence pieces and you’ll go home feeling a little better about yourself.”

No I won’t. I’ll give you five pence to shut up though.

“If you’ve seen anything more hideous today, then you don’t have to give me any money.”

Thank God for that. I see something more hideous every day – my reflection in the mirror first thing in the morning.

Don’t mistake what I mean by this though – I am not an uncharitable person. I just don’t like to be nagged and generally support the same charities I feel passionately about.

Unfortunately, Help the Aged is not one of them.

Why should I help the aged?

It is in my humble opinion that the aged are of no use to society when they reach that ‘aged’ age. I’m not entirely sure what age that is though…

I have great plans to be cryogenically frozen however, and then I will never have to deal with being ‘aged’, or allowing idiots to collect money on my behalf.

In all seriousness though, the prospect of being old scares me; not being able to do things for myself, being feeble, not having my own teeth. God forbid!

And it’s not just the getting old part. It’s the getting older part as well.

I’m only 22, yet I continually examine my face, worrying about fine lines. Who’s the idiot now?!

More so, getting older means acting more mature. Where has my childhood gone?!

It is no longer acceptable to ‘play’. As an adult, it is often frowned upon and I hate that.

Why can’t I play?

The reason children are so content in comparison to adults is because they have ‘playtime’.
They can be silly, foolish, laugh, giggle, paint with their hands, paint with their feet, imagine…

Who wants to give up all of that? Is Help the Aged going to resolve these problems?

Disclaimer: I don’t really hate old people. It’s a rainy day in June and I’m tired. I’ve been sitting at a computer screen all week, so just give me all your money and I’ll stop moaning…

Pulp like to Help the Aged.