Using my telepathic gift I know that all of you out there have wished a bunch of lads would sit around and quote the Office for a weekend, whilst being surrounded by a supporting cast of egotistical kitchen sink manatees.
This weekend the lads hit London; Bringing Northern charm and good looks to a parasite army. To create an idea of the crowd for you – think V Festival, but the total opposite. V Festival is the laid back and cool uncle, whilst Offset is your drunken mother on Xmas day.
Never have I been to a place to be the only person to be wearing a football logo before this weekend. Instead the weekend was dominated by trilbies – I understand, we’re going through a credit crunch as bad as that of 1929 and people want to create a romantic utopia in dreadful times, but there is one problem – you’re not an apple seller who still lies to his wife and says he is still a banker/luxury salesman so that he saves face.
So why dress like a cock muncher? You’re not cool. Paul Jewell does not like you. Thatcher and Reagan do not respect fashion. Fashion is not yr sex slave. Coco Chanel is not your old dinner lady. You’re not a plumber, buy a belt. You’re not poor, buy a new pair of jeans. You’re not Noel Fielding, have a haircut. You’re not a bloody bloke.
Rant Over, Buddy.
