In my day and age, when flares were corduroyed and Starsky and Hutch were cool, ...yes...really. We had words knownst only to us, well the subtlety was knownst only to us. We were left-of-centre, we were cocky, we had DMs. We had kagools that probably would have had us called fore-runners of hoodies, if CCTV was there to make us famous. Been there and wished I really hadn't done that for the sake of a peer group acceptance, now that I'm looking back.
Today it is not words, its sms's in a language of abbreviations to fool an Enigma machine. Not only a shortcut language, they have signs, smiley signs carefully adjusted colons, dashes, semi colons and Ds.
They have handshakes that would make a congratulatory handshake after a Wembley final hat trick by Stanley Matthews look like a probable cause of arrest for attempted assault with a wonky hand by an overzealous team-mate. Stanley would have thought he was about to be half Nelson'd by Mick McManus, as opposed to the "Undertaker", "Scorpion King" or the something-that-sounds-frightening-to-children. That is children as opposed teenagers. Teenagers who have disowned the prized posssession of yesteryear ~ the multi-jointed long haired mega-expensive man-doll called "The Fridge", although yesteryear was last year and a bit.
All those Wrestlers from the wrong side of the publicity stunt, multi-jointed short-arsed version of Action Man that are now as uncool as a white stripe on a red car.
Today I am supposed to know how to rap to talk to my son. Today I need to dance like a robot gangsta with my pants where my trousers should be, to walk with my daughter.
Maybe the next generation is destined to be brickees.