The Compostual Existentialist

Wordpress flavour with added crunchy bits

Nekkid

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Yeah. I went to Kimos last night for my tea. angelhands was in a meeting and I was starving so I popped along to Kimos. Anyway it was fairly busy for an evening. Mainly families with their kids. One such family was sat at one of the tables on the raised podium. I didn’t see them from where I was sat but I was aware of their presence. There was mummy right-on-bear, daddy right-on-bear and baby right-on-bear. A hideous collective of “right-on”ness. You know the type?

Those that have stepped out of the 90’s and pepper their conversations with “Yar” and “okhay” and “ryeght”. They have friends called Tarquin, Georgina and Harriett and they dress below their income levels so that they are in tune with the prolateriat but live in huge detached houses in the more expensive areas of a town or city. Speak loudly into mobile phones and are openly liberal with their child’s behavior. Their idea of chastisement is to smile sweetly and say “Xanthe please don’t throw salt over people” to their child in a saccharine tone. The male will wear sandals and sport a “Joy of Sex” beard and quite often be something like an architect or copper bracelet sales man. The female will typically wear combats and wear a scarf on her head and a sour facial expression. She will be typically a pain in the arse do gooder with the most bizarre views [ “Oh I cant possibly let Persephone play with conkers. They are a symbol of feminine repression”] , possibly narcissistic and save her used tampons for some bizarre bonding ritual she’s read about in “Harpers & Queen

Anyway their little 4 year old shit princess, apart from chucking salt at the other diners, was jumping up and down between the parents screaming singing something that resembled the tune to Balamory. Mummy said “Darling please do that quietly Daddy and I are discussing something” in her horridly condescending soft voice before returning to her conversation with her man about Franchesca’s menstrual cycle and why being in sync with the moon will cause her problems with Tarquin’s wind chime empire to disappate. But that’s about as much chastisement little Xanthe got.

I’d finished my meal by this point. I was surprised I actually managed to get the food through my gnashed teeth. Ok don’t get me wrong. Im quite tolerant of things. But I can’t abide twatty people or twatty people with kids that, had they been me as a kid, would have had a severe telling off and a trip home to bed. So I stood up to go. I thought a well deserved stony yet menacing glare at the family would suffice. I quickly had to divert my gaze!

Why??

Well the child was NAKED from the waist down! FFS!

This is not some sunny far off beach side bar, this is not some homely setting. THIS IS FUCKING KIMOS! If I wanted to see semi-naked children while I ate…I’d….I’d…well I’d go somewhere where naked children are acceptable….Basingstoke…maybe Goole…or Matlock…Not KIMOS! I don’t have a problem with breast feeding in public, I don’t have a problem with topless barmaids. But I DO have a problem with semi-stark-bollock-children running round or bouncing up and down on chairs drawing attention to themselves….especially in established eateries!

I dunno….am I wrong? Is this acceptable behaviour that I have been previously unaware of?? Am I just being a prude unnecessarily and I should embrace infant nudity [not literally]?? Please let me know….

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Author: stegzy

Once, long ago, I wrote frequently on Livejournal. I then moved to Blogspot, where I discovered that blogging requires an audience. So I moved back to LJ. Then over to Dreamwidth, back to LJ, up the road of self hosting with Muckybadger before giving up entirely and moving over to Wordpress. It was at that moment I decided I would spread my compostual nonsense simultaneously across the blogosphere like some rancid margarine. And so here I am. I am a badger. But then I'm not really a badger. I am a human. With badger like tendencies. I am a writer, a film producer and a social commentator. I am available for Breakfast TV shows, documentaries and chats in the pub with journalists.

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