The Inbetweeners

I am firmly ensconced back in the heart of suburban middle-England that is Tunbridge Wells.  It would appear that since I was last resident here, last December, very little has changed.  Saturday night TV viewing appears to be exactly the same – Strictly Come Dancing and the X-Factor.  The contestants might well be that same one’s from last year for all I can tell – particularly in the X-Factor where a sob-story about life in a council estate being raised by mum is followed by on camera sobbing and then belting out an 80’s hit a tad off key, whilst half-naked dancers cavort nearby.  Last night’s televisual entertainment was so dire that Vanny (Myvanwy) and I attempted to dull the pain with our favourite Californian rose, but even this could not take the edge off the shrill screeching that will potentially be a Christmas number One.

Jordan a.k.a Katie Price

I also made the mistake of paging through the OK magazine whilst waiting in the queue at Waitrose.  I learnt that 35 year old, Jordan, aka Katie Price (a glamour model-cum-saucy novelist who was once married to Peter Andre, of that catchy pop song ‘Mysterious Girl’ fame) has in my year long absence married and had a boy child with a 26 year old plasterer-cum-stripper.  The phrase ‘plasterer-cum-stripper’ captures the essence of Mrs. Cougar-Price quite nicely, as her previous husband was Alex Reid, a cross-dressing cage fighter with an alter ego called Roxanne.  When I discussed this shocking discovery with 93-year-old Vanny she wondered if perhaps I was misinterpreting the ‘stripper’ in the new Mr. Price’s title and suggested that he is he perhaps a ‘plasterer-cum-wallpaper stripper’.

Alex Reid a.k.a Roxanne

The highlight of my Saturday night was that Alex, the spotty, newly gravel-voiced teen from next door was having a party and came to warn us that it might be a little noisy until midnight.  I immediately pictured scenes from the Inbetweeners and so was quite pleased when I had the joys of encountering some of these young partygoers as I popped outside to put out the recycling at 11pm.  

The Inbetweeners

Perched on the low front wall were two couples formed of twitchy male youths slouching about, hands in pockets, attempting to impress two impressively maned twiglet thin blondes.  Twiglet Blonde 1 was a tad slurry and while squinting up at Slouchy Youth 1 had the following conversation:

Twig Blonde: So you’re Matthew James?

Slouchy Youth: No, I’m Matthew Johns.

Twig Blonde: But do you know Matthew James?

Slouchy Youth: No.

Twig Blonde: But you’re sure you’re not Matthew James? You look like him.

Slouchy Youth: No.

I sauntered inside and returned 5 minutes later with an empty milk bottle that had escaped my first round of dutiful recycling and heard Twiglet Blonde saying, “So you’re sure you’re not Matthew James?”

Poor Matthew (Johns, not James) was clearly trapped with a drunken teen poppet stuck in her own goldfish bowl.  Were it not for the biological imperative to propagate I’ve no doubt he would have headed indoors to central heating and smoother flowing conversation.  I admired his hormonal tenacity as he stared hungrily at his long empty bottle of Stella and attempted to work the conversation away from his identity crisis through the exclusive use of monosyllables.

 

Is there, I wondered, anything more vacuous than a drunk 15 year old?  Ah, yes… Katie Price.