At some point, over the festive period just past, I found myself watching a TV series called “Grumpy Old Men” in which several personalities (they’d probably baulk at being called celebrities) rant and rave about the myriad of little things that annoy them; The people who talk loudly on their mobile phones, the fact that these gentlemen are quite happy to sit in silence and consider it time well spent, and how baffled these grumpy men are with an entire raft of youth culture issues.
I laughed along with a lot of the comments, heartily at first then, as the program progressed, with a slight tinge of dread for, it appears, I too am a Grumpy Old Man.
It’s not that I think I’m old (I’m 35 and quite happy with that) but I do seem to be quite a grumpy bugger.
Perhaps this isn’t a blog post I should be writing first thing in the morning, before I’ve had caffeine but … ohh actually there’s a thing. How hard is it to leave a kitchen area in a reasonable state? How selfish – or perhaps arrogant? – do you have to be to assume that it is acceptable to leave the remnants of your lunch, crumbs, tomato seeds or whatever?
Ohhh dear. I’m doing it again, aren’t I.
As you were.
I am a fully paid up grumpy old man. I agree with almost every view expressed on the show, particularly by Arthur Smith.
Although the programme was funny, I couldn’t watch because it made me uncomfortable. I just wanted them to be more tolerant and get over themselves. Which would have defeated the point, I recognise. But I’m just not grumpy.
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