Poor Little Reich Kids By Silver Fox

continued from,

It is this suppression of genuine self-expression, however, that causes trouble. Placed in a situation where normality is changed - being pissed up in a Portuguese town, say - your everyday, likes-a-laugh-good-old-boy sort of cat is going to feel things to an extent that is way beyond what they'd normally feel. He's away from home, family, his day-to-day life; it's hot enough to make Catherine Deneuve look a bit wilted and sweaty; thousands of voices are bellowing Three Lions with more enthusiasm than skill..who wouldn't be a tad worked up?

So how does he express himself? He hasn't got a clue. All of his life he's been encouraged to fit in; had his own, unique voice stifled. All he can do is what he's always done - see how the wind's blowing and go with the flow. The next thing the poor muppet knows - he's hungover in a police cell with bruises all over his face and the remains of a riot copper's nose still sticking between his teeth. And before you leap to the conclusion that I'm being an elitist, patronising twat, I'm not claiming that this is a condition endemic only to the uneducated, "working class" consumer.

This weekend, I was invited to a get-together/barbie/punch-sodden-debauch hosted (and attended) by some clued-up, literate, cultured bods. It was a good-humoured, vaguely erudite affair (relatively speaking - thisisull, after all), but come the start of the England/France match, these same people were hollering and yabbering like crazed gibbons. There were no punch-ups, admittedly, nor was anyone glassed, but that was, I would argue, due more to the fact that it was a small gathering of friends bereft of disruptive and unfamiliar influences than anything else. The same, reassuring, validating feeling of being On The Same Side was there.

Thus, it follows that in these situations, people are vulnerable and suggestible to a mob mentality, and if certain elements are present, the mob will be led a certain way - which is, of course, why these neo-nazis target football games, seeking unthinking grist for their fucked-up mill. Rather than simply attempting to prevent these agitators from attending international matches (although, obviously, that should be done), wouldn't it be better to attack the problem at the root by encouraging people to get into the habit of thinking for themselves for a change?

That way, should a delegation of the BNP's finest begin trouble at a match, they might not find quite so many takers. A fine thought, certainly, but to be frank, there's probably more chance of David Beckham getting through an interview without using the word amazing.

Whatever Happened To .. White eggs..?

Unimaginable Horrors I've Seen

The other day, while bopping along - just enjoying the day and grooving on an internal soundtrack of my own devising (a version of The Pink Panther Theme that Stevie Ray Vaughan never got around to performing, if you're interested), I saw something that really did chill the blood in my veins. I blinked a couple of times, and even tried pinching myself, but it carried on being there; solid and real.

Why? I asked myself, Why couldn't stuff like that just stay in my nightmares where it belongs? What business does such an affront against all that is decent have obtruding itself into the physical world? It was a big car (as for make and model, I've no idea, but it was probably blue, if that helps), decorated, not only with two of those horrid little St George's flags, but with an oscillating blue light fixed to the radiator grille a la (colour-blind) Knight Rider. Needless to say, I hurried on, the summer's day now a mere mockery of it's former self.

Music and Lies

(Beneath the glittering disco-ball of crazed fiction, time and truth jitterbug as though their lives depend upon it) ..Congratulations to Le Shed for finally completing a 30,000 piece jigsaw puzzle depicting the signing of Bertoldt Brecht's first royalty cheque..Bryan Adams, soon to play at the KC stadium, has apparently said of Hull that although I've never been there before, it is a name that has always tightened my scrotum for some reason..it's like there's this weird, mystic aura that seems to surround it for me - I hope I'm not disappointed..good luck there, spotty .. ..after finding a mouse in the sideboard of their singer's house, Age of Jets are planning a three-CD concept album about small mammals and their appropriation in certain quarters as sex aids - it is, as yet, untitled..more soon..

Foxy's Final Fought

A simple message this week, www.catsandkittens - things could always be worse. This (not, admittedly, entirely earth-shattering) realisation came upon me quite suddenly and nastily a couple of days ago. I have been keeping indoors quite a bit, having been unsettled by the autovehicular beastliness I have alluded to elsewhere in this column, so it was with a certain trepidation that I ventured outside again at the start of the week. At first, things didn't seem any worse than usual - it was still like walking through an open sewer that George A. Romero was using as a location, obviously, but you get used to that, don't you? After a while though, I saw..it. Worse than that other one - so much worse.

Imagine - if you can - a huge, silver MPV festooned with no less than SIX of those England pennants so beloved of John Bullshit motorists. Grim, you're doubtless thinking, but surely not all that frightful, Foxy? Show's what you know - and stop interrupting, for God's sake; you've been a right pain in the arse this week, I don't mind telling you.

It was worse than just the pennants - I could have just about handled the pennants alone. Just. This car, however, was being driven along at a little over walking speed and its windows were down, allowing as much as Creation as was available to hear what sounded like a version of Come On Eileen (the chorus subtly altered to come on, England), performed by Chas & Dave.

Don't ever think you've touched bottom; just when you think that the world's done all it can, that's when you find out that it's just rolling up its sleeves and getting started. Incidentally, if anybody's popping to the shops anytime in the next six months, could you pick up some milk, bread, and fags for me?

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