The Compostual Existentialist

Wordpress flavour with added crunchy bits

Europeans

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A pipe dream I have involves me being all dirty and wrinkly, living in some old Continental European village sitting outside some pavement café, tabac or bar, drinking, smoking and talking shite with other old geezers while playing dominoes or some game with matches or something. All around me the world would go about it’s business and holidaying tourists would stop and look longingly at my idyllic life with green and envious eyes.

I see similar old men on the TV and on my small travels across the continent (I went to Spain and France in 1987, Yugoslavia in 1988 and Madeira in 2003) On all three occasions I observed these wrinkly old men, sitting, smoking, drinking and talking shite while the world about them carried on it’s business) and I wonder how do they afford to partake in such activities when here I am, young, spritely and not so wrinkly, and I am unable to afford such a luxury. It’s not as if they are wealthy either. A lot of these types seem to live in ramshackle huts in the mountains, drive vehicles from the 1950’s and wear clothes as ragged as tramps. They appear to have bad teeth, their hair thinning and they seem to squint a lot for want of a good pair of spectacles. So how is it they can afford to do it yet I can’t?

What is it they actually do? Is that what happens to millionaires? Even young smartly dressed chaps with designer shirts, sunglasses and trousers seem to congregate in these places while younger males look on in eager anticipation. Oozing charisma around the place.

Mrs Gnomepants seems to think it’s because their women kin are busy picking olives, grapes or whatever and that if I thought she was going to do such a thing I could go and jump off a high ledge. I disagree. Because it came to me that in these places one sees the women, all ragged and gummy, chewing tobacco, their wrinkled faces peering through blackened shawls. They too are sat but not in the pavement cafés but in doorways, knitting, whittling or swearing in a foreign tongue at passers by. Surely that is the life though? TO be old, wrinkly, European and the ability to talk shite at great length.

Maybe I’ve gone about life in the wrong way….

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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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