Monday 22 March 2010

Old chavs

In general, I don't like the word chav. I think it's uncouth, and below me. Enter your own joke as you wish.

I was pondering, during my morning promenade, about elderly folk of the future. I passed a woman, perhaps in her 70s, who was wearing a very smart navy skirt suit, boxy jacket, sensibly-heeled court shoes, with the most fabulous neatly coiffed hair. The first thought that ambled through my mind was how much she reminded me of a woman called Margaret that I used to work with. But I don't suppose you know Margaret, or her fabulously-sweary surname, so I shan't go down that path.

The second thought was that most women in their 70s and 80s (and most men of that age, too) dress very smartly indeed; smart/casual at all times for the men, skirt suits and sensible heels for the ladies.

It struck me that these folks seemed to have stumbled upon a look that worked for them (in 1954) and stayed with it: fair play to them all. But then a seedier thought crept in; what will the elderly of the future look like?

Well: I'll spare you the trouble of thinking about it, because I've done it for you. They'll look like chavs, that's what they'll look like. Baggy trousers for the men, trainers with the tongues lolling out, that strange one-sided hip gait which, fifty years hence, will be due to arthritis more than attitude.

And the women! Imagine the horror! Old ladies (I use the term loosely) in pink velour Juicy Couture tracksuits, the waistbands clinging perilously to their hips, showing above the waistband not a diamante thong, but their Tena lady pants.

I have seen the future. It wasn't great.

Anyway: the sun is shining, and I look wonderful. So: what more could we wish for? Let's bound hand-in-hand in to the week's open arms. Away!

lots of love,
Aunty
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