E-cigarettes!!  All the rage apparently. Electronic inhalers that vapourise a liquid solution into an aerosol mist, simulating the act of tobacco smoking. Bollocks! Nonce bollocks in fact! My old man grew up on a 60 Regals a day.  Passed it down to me . And I’ll pass it down to my young ‘uns.  You either want a hit or you don’t want a hit. Ladies and gentlemen, will you please man up. If you want to play the arse with some electronic device get yourself a stun gun. Stab yourself with a million volts of pure good times and see what a buzz you get off that. Just be careful you don’t shit yourself like my mate Graham did. That was smelly. Really smelly.

Remember the days.  Bennies. Dexys. Blues. Pink Champagne. Good ol’ Billy Whizz. It was the drug that defined a generation.  You all seen Quadrophenia.

Talking of which – what the fuck does Quadrophenia mean?  Had to ask me mate, Fast Gerald.

“Quadrophenia is a made up word, mashing together “quadrophonic” which was a briefly popular form of music recording and playback to 4 channels rather than the standard 2, and schizophrenia, a mental disorder characterized by hallucinations and a loss of grasp on reality.”  There you go.

Anyways, back to speeding. You’d get a wrap for a tenner that’d fuel a whole night on the lash with enough left over for a liquid breakfast. It displeases that this option is no longer open to your average punter. Instead there’s an inferior amphetamine product that some like to call Charlie.  At £50 a pop. Doesn’t even last a lunch-time.  I should know.

But I at least got away from speed unscathed. Apart from the odd temper tantrum maybe. But nowt else. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for good ol’ Toot Toucan.  Its prosthetic beak time for that silly sod.

Was mugs like me that made the Fred Perry wot it is today. Blood on the beaches. Boot in the face. Wore them as a badge of honour. Even ironed the fuckers. Now they’ve gone all ponce and nonce on us. The Sir Bradders Wiggo range? How is a proper punter like me gonna get into one of them.? The Raf Simons range? Don’t even get me started!!! Was bad enough when they got that Andy ‘Och Aye The Screw You Sassanach’ Murray to be their brand spokey.  Of course he bottled every tournament wearing ‘em. Shove that up your Bannockburn, you prick. So come on, Fred Perry. Show your core market some friggin respect. Get a proper Anglo Saxon in on the design team. Lord Ray Winstone.? Mayor Boris Johnson? Give us some girth!!!!