8. Ma the far Cass (Part Two) 

Ma the far Cass (Part Two) 

Happy New Year, and all that shit. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Things I hate. Fuck it: 

• The General Public 

      The general public are (generally) selfish, loathsome, rude, stupid, potentially violent cretins (not you, of course. You’re brilliant). I wish I could feel for sure that anyone using the tube, anyone at all, is NOT under the impression that the whole underground, the entire network of complicated links and decisions (ahem), the very epitome of comfort and efficiency (cough), speed and reliability (bring up a lung) is operated solely for their own, exclusive, individual, personal benefit. Surely nobody thinks that, right? 

      Wrong! An independent, newbie observer could surely be forgiven for thinking that everyone thinks that, as almost everyone, in every station and on every tube, gives exactly that impression, pretty much all of the time. As well you will know, if you’ve ever used the tube. Ever. In which case, YOU are almost certainly part of the problem. As, of course, am I. Calm down, calm down. 

      But hey, neither of us are as bad as a bunch of tourists who feel they have to push past everyone to get off a crowded train, only to immediately spread out across the entire platform and remain, entrenched, blocking anyone moving in any direction, because their mum is trying to take a photo of them all standing next to a Tom Hanks poster. 

      We’re not as bad as young middle-class parents, getting on and off amid the warning bleeps, with buggies that must be three feet wide, yet allowing the kids that should be therein, the space and freedom to learn to walk at this most opportune of moments. Maybe, just maybe, rush hour at Piccadilly Circus is neither the time nor the fucking place to allow Tarquin and Tabitha the space to find their freedom to learn how to fucking walk? Jesus! 

• People shouting at each other 

      *Deep breath* Now, I’m sure that you think that what you’re saying is of the utmost importance (it’s not) and it has to be ejaculated immediately (it doesn’t) because your companion desperately wants to hear what you have to say (they don’t) because it’s so interesting (it isn’t. I’ve listened)… If you just wait a few seconds until you’ve passed the amplifier, before enlightening your captive audience, it will be a lot more pleasant for everyone. Don’t try and drown out the music, man. Enjoy the moment. We can make ourselves a lot louder than you. 

Fuck it. While we’re here… 

• Running. At Rush Hour 

      I once had no option but to say into the microphone, “Watch out, everyone! Juggernaut coming through!” It was a fair comment, believe me. 

      “How rude!” was the response of a middle-aged lady who definitely had the look of a Conservative about her. But, in my defence, the guy was about six-foot-six, definitely over twenty stone, and running as fast as his huge, fat tree-trunks would permit, as it was 5.05pm, and he had a homeward-bound tube to catch. Fuck anyone who got in his way. 

      Now, imagine you’re out with your wonderful, kind, loving, generous but senile, frail, old nan, or your beautiful / ugly, inquisitive / thick-as-fuck, full of energy, two-year-old toddler, and they momentarily place one step in the wrong direction at the wrong nano-second and get hit by this huge, selfish, fucking bulldozer… They would cause some serious damage and your loved one would get seriously hurt. And you’d probably want to knock the fat fuck unconscious, right? 

      Well… Rush hour delivers these twunts in abundance, at an average of more than one a minute. Maybe not all quite so gargantuan, but hey… That’s at least one hundred self-centred fucks, selfishly risking physical damage to all but themselves, during a two-hour session. Thankfully, I’d say about 80% of these fuckers manage to complete their short sprint without coming too close to a serious impact, but when you have to witness this behaviour, repeatedly, unexpectedly and incessantly, it can make it hard to breathe. 

      So, if you can finish a rush-hour session without feeling the need for a stiff drink / spliff / crack pipe to calm you down, you’re probably a psychopathic neo-liberalist who should think about running for government. 

• The Millennial Mince 

      It’s not just you, but you’re to blame. Middle-aged men now think it’s acceptable to behave the same. And it’s setting a very bad example… 

       You’ve seen it: Head down (probably glued to a ‘smart’phone), arms not moving (even if they’re not holding the ‘smart’phone), legs doing a double-speed short-step, seemingly unable to stop for any moving obstacle, yet able to suddenly veer into another’s trajectory with neither warning nor apology… Millennials, I don’t mean to cause any offence (just kidding). I know you’re not to blame for everything (just kidding), but… I know there are plenty of good, likeable millennials out there, believe me, I’ve met a couple (just kidding)… Forgive me if there are any decent millennials reading this (though I very much doubt it, as you’re all busy glaring at Instagraph, Snapdragon or Facefuck, whatever it is you waste your time with these days) but so many of you really need to sort your shit out, you’re letting the side down. I’ll do it in bullet points, just for you, if only for the benefit of your (decent and respectful) peers… 

• Lose the Mince. It’s a very unattractive look. Walk properly. 

• You are not the only person on the tube. All the others are real, too. 

• If two elderly ladies are slowly approaching each other with evident difficulty, DO NOT speed through the gap so closely that you brush against BOTH in your effort to get down the NO ENTRY short cut to the northern line. Fuck’s sake. Bit of respect, please. 

• When YOU bump into someone, and THEY say “Sorry,” the correct response is NOT, “That’s okay,” or “Never mind,” or “Don’t worry about it.” It’s “SORRY!” Okay!? Nothing else! 

• And so on and so forth… 

• Oh yeah… and if you’re old enough to wear a beard (boy or girl), you’re too old to wear a Harry fucking Potter cape! 

      But if it’s any consolation… Generation Z, or whatever the fuck they’re called, are going to make you lot look like fucking angels. Just going by what I’m seeing. They really are totes appallballs. 

• Deaf People (Wait for it) 

       Picture this. I’m just checking everything’s plugged in, I’m roughly in tune and everything’s turned on, when I see an elderly gentleman coming down the escalator, a fierce scowl on his face: eyes, nose, mouth, all screwed up, elbows raised at right angles, an index finger in each ear. He seems to be trying to make a point of some kind as he scurries by, glaring at me with intent. Before I’ve even played a note. 

       Right. Let’s set the record straight. If your hearing is that bad, YOU SHOULD NOT BE ON THE UNDERGROUND. Certainly not without protection. The level of noise you are subjected to on your journey is very comparable with the volume I’m knocking out of my 50W amp. Believe me. I’ve checked. Between the screeches of trains on the tracks, through the sheer horrendousness of Mediterranean students swarming in manageable groups of eighty or a hundred, to the fierce insistence of announcements telling these students repeatedly to move down the platform, (in a language THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND), all in all, it can be a lot louder than you’d think. And like I said, I’ve checked. I have a little electronic decibel volume level meter reader thing. It may not have been calibrated by the ministry for silly songs, but it gives a rough idea of how loud some shit is, relative to other shit. To put it in perspective: 

(Cue pop chart countdown music...) 

      “Hi, hello and welcome to the latest toppermost of the poppermost countdown of this week’s comparative volumes, sponsored by Viatral, the low-calorie, alternative advertising projection storage solution and factor fifteen anti-fungal arsecream, now with added brightness.” 

(Doo-doo-do-do-do-dooo)

(In decibels, at a distance of one metre, of course. The bigger the number, the louder the problem. As well you know) 

• 80 dB. A small house party at 10pm 

• 95 dB. A small house party at 11.30pm 

• 98-102 dB. Me. Busking. (Geddit!?) 

• 103.5 dB. A small house party after midnight. 

• 103.6 dB. The Bakerloo line, between the Elephant & Castle and Waterloo. No idea why that stretch is so consistently, extraordinarily loud. 

• 105 dB. A medium sized woman, lightly scorned. 

• 107.2 dB. A blond child from Twyford, heavily spoiled. 

• 110.4 dB. The announcements at Holborn, at rush hour, angrily, repeatedly telling foreign kids to move down the platform. IN A LANGUAGE THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND! FFS! 

• 125 dB. The volume of a police siren when they need to jump a red light. 

• 129 dB. A smoke / fire / intruder / flood alarm in a small hotel (It took ten minutes for them to work out which alarm it was, enough time for me to grab my sound level meter. I didn’t start the fire). 

• 144 dB. Your mum. 

      But anyhoo, that’s why I use an amp. It’s because it’s so fucking loud down here. 

      So, when people tell me I’m too loud, I want to let them know that if I can hear them complaining, then clearly, I AM NOT LOUD ENOUGH! But what I tend to do, as they walk by shouting at me, I just shout back, “What?! Sorry, I can’t hear you! It’s this music! It’s really fucking loud!” 

      So, just don’t. It doesn’t wash. It just makes you look silly. And if the music I’m playing hurts you in any way, it should be the pain of the tortured anguish of the enigmatic, misunderstood artist. 

      Because I am not playing loud enough for it to be hurting you physically. It’s not in my interest. I’d earn no money. And I might get banned. I am rarely louder than the trains on the tracks or the speakers above your head, or the millennials shouting incredulously about how boring their breakfast was. Seriously. Grow up. And fuck off. 

      Anyhoo. Hope this begins to answer your question. You can get back to saving the world now. Feel free to spread the word. Spread the love. I need a lie-down. 

      Laters, yeah x 

If you want to read part one, click here. 

And if you want to take a look at the book…