Youth of today - the flip side
Discussion
I know many of you have problems with youths, but they are not all bad. When I was opening my garage to put Fluffy away tonight two youths of about 14yrs of age cycled up, uh oh thinks I this could be trouble, but no they were only interested in the car, they knew what it was and even how to get into it. So I let them sit in and rev the engine. They even knew what engine was in it. Anyway the point is not all of todays youth are bad (unless Fluffy has been nickede tommorow in which case all youths are bad)
Ocean1
Ocean1
wedg1e said:
Fluffy. You call your car..... Fluffy.
Oh dear,
, still - each to there own. But the kiddies do have a use. As if getting the Chim out of he garage wasn't enough fun, most times I do find that some kids from the flats are playing as I drive past.
Suddenly there's silence (except for the burble)... then "Wow! Great car mate!".
"Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise". Matthew 21:16
PS: I'm not religious, I just remembered the phrase from somewhere, Google did the rest.
>> Edited by nchilds on Saturday 9th August 01:34
>> Edited by nchilds on Saturday 9th August 01:35
Nice to hear.
Indeed, I remember during my courtship of she who must, when I would park up for an evening, abandoning things as dear to my heart as the old 928, in an area several times less salubrious than Toxteth circa 1981, when from time to time, urchins who one might otherwise presumed to have been fodder for one's chariots' wheels, were easily lulled into a reasonable sense of non-auto vandalism by such simple acts of social interaction.
And today, as I unlocked the gates of the Stalag, I was encouraged by the sight of two young 'uns, brushing away with vigour, sweep and spade, the broken debris of a drunken roll home by a local inebriate that despoiled the back street.
So even without a return to agrarian values and enlightened forced labour, there are chinks of light to be gleened through an otherwise impenetrable chain mail suit of youthful malaise.
Indeed, I remember during my courtship of she who must, when I would park up for an evening, abandoning things as dear to my heart as the old 928, in an area several times less salubrious than Toxteth circa 1981, when from time to time, urchins who one might otherwise presumed to have been fodder for one's chariots' wheels, were easily lulled into a reasonable sense of non-auto vandalism by such simple acts of social interaction.
And today, as I unlocked the gates of the Stalag, I was encouraged by the sight of two young 'uns, brushing away with vigour, sweep and spade, the broken debris of a drunken roll home by a local inebriate that despoiled the back street.
So even without a return to agrarian values and enlightened forced labour, there are chinks of light to be gleened through an otherwise impenetrable chain mail suit of youthful malaise.
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