Older than Jesus...

As I have probably mentioned before I am the oldest person, 35, at work. This is with the exception of the head chef, but he's not a real person so he doesn't count. He is in fact the spawn of a one night stand between a jackal and a bed side cabinet. In other words dull but with a snarling temper. Being the oldest person at work has it's benefits - people seek me out for my fatherly wisdom, which is nice. I'm regarded as an oracle on all matters of service. And I get to say things like, "I was doing this job before you were born!" and "I've got underwear older than you."

But being the oldest person at work has more downsides than upsides if I'm being honest. Downsides like having the piss taken out of me all the time.

The merciless little whippersnappers.

But sometimes I really don't help myself. For example t'other day, as old people tend to say, we were having a pleasant conversation about all things music. I was waxing lyrical about the unique and wonderful melancholy that can only be found in the lyrics of one Stephen Patrick Morrissey. I see it as my role to educate the little blighters just as my father "taught" me about the Stones and Bob Dylan, which of course I completely ignored. But as their little youthful eyes glazed over with disinterest and fatigue, I had been rambling for a while, one of them mentioned the Ting Tings.

Well there was both shock and cries of disbelief as I said I had that very album. I can still see their doubting looks. The cheeky wee fuckers. One of them even said, and this really fucking hurts you have no idea, "I thought you would be into Phil Collins and that sort of stuff."

Phil Collins?

Phil Fucking Collins?

I wouldn't use a Phil Collins CD as a coaster for fucks sake less the smarm and cheese that oozes from it's very presence should infect my cup of Joe. I spent the next few hours being quizzed on the players, personalities, and the general big hitters involved into todays popular music scene. I couldn't answer questions or offer any insight into the world of happy hardcore or trance music, one has no interest in such malarky. But I did seem to score highly and by then end had them convinced that I was indeed "hip" and in some way "with it."

But I managed to ruin it all with one thoughtless remark. One unguarded line about the weather undid all that I had so tirelessly fought for. As we waited for our taxis home at the ned of the night I bemoaned the retched summer we are currently enduring.

"Wasn't like this when I was a kid you know? I mean I remember when it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. You could rely on the seasons back then." It didn't help that I said this whilst rubbing my aching back. I mean I couldn't have made it any worse if I had been wearing a flat cap and whittling a piece of wood at the same time.

They looked at each other then looked at me and then burst out laughing. The bastards.

"Okay grandad...Uh huh summers were warmer, that's right and you could get into the 'picture house' for a farthing. You want me to tell the taxi driver where you are going incase you forget?"

See in my day, when I was a lad, you were allowed to slap the little jackanapes.

If anybody needs me I'll be listening to, "Hatful of Hollow" and thinking about the "good old days" of Thatcher and yuppies and warm summers.

But not Phil Collins, obviously.