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Past-it old bastard referring to you both as 'people our age'

AN old and decrepit man is under the mistaken impression that you and he are contemporaries.

While talking to friends and acquaintances at social events, Martin Bishop has been insisting they are old fogies well past their prime like him – something that is clearly not true.

Nathan Muir said: “Martin and I were getting on fine in the pub. We agreed on a lot of things, like the state of the roads, how much we hate e-scooters and our dislike of loud teenagers on the bus. 

“I’d started telling him about how I did my back in jogging – jogging, which is what young people do – and he clearly said ‘Well, that’s what happens to people our age’. Where the f**k did that come from?

“Martin’s got grey hair and wears boring M&S shirts, whereas I wear trainers and like to think I am quite fashionable in a sort of ‘ageless’ way. I mean, yes, I have a few flecks of grey but that can happen in your 30s. Although I’m not in my 30s, I’m in my 50s, obviously. 

“So I’m not sure how he got this insane idea we’re in the same over-the-hill age bracket, just because he was in the year above me at school.”

Bishop said: “I distinctly remember Nathan from school, so he’s not much younger than me. Also I saw how big he has the text on his phone. It’s good to know he’s socially and sexually irrelevant too.”

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I am the seagull who shat on the King, and it was a multi-layered republican critique

AS a seagull, my existence is inherently political. Consequently I have developed a radical consciousness that speaks truth to power and that is why I shat on the King.

We – I speak for the gull population as a collective – are the downtrodden of the UK. 

Disparaged by everyone. Forced to live in deprived coastal towns and the victims of you putting your leftover chips in a bin rather than letting us equitably share them.

There seems no reason why. Rats, yes, I get why you’d hold the Black Death against them. But us? With our magnificent wings and our harmonious cries? It’s prejudice, pure and simple.

So for you to send an outdated representative of the discredited system of hereditary monarchy out here, to us? In Northern bloody Ireland, for God’s sake? That same King that recently cuddled up to Trump? No way, mate. Not letting that stand.

I took my proposal – namely, to swoop and eject hot guano at exactly the right trajectory to splatter his Anderson & Sheppard suit – to our action committee. We agreed this was no empty gesture.

‘They’ll recognise this is in solidarity with the Catholic population,’ Jerry said. ‘And against globalised capitalism and its environmental impact,’ added Conor. ‘Plus he’ll look a right twat with shit all up his back,’ said Sheryl, who’s not quite there yet with her Marx.

The motion was passed. So during his condescending little walkabout I commenced my low-level run and properly fired my excrement, with pinpoint accuracy, all over him. ‘That’s for the Boyne!’ I squawked though I knew the lapdog media wouldn’t report it.

A blow has been struck for the working gull and for all the oppressed peoples of the world. No way the British monarchy’s coming back from this. Has he abdicated yet? We don’t get the papers.

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