That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
Misanthropy is a generalized dislike, distrust, disgust, contempt and hatred of the Human species, human nature, or society…. Basically, I just hate people.
And where do you find plenty of people?
Shopping.
Oh yes, I’ve not left you alone, far from it. This time is a poor jump from kids to shopping like a daytime TV presenter pulling together a light-hearted story of a kitten that did eventually get the cream and some poor bastard who dies of some rare poor bastard disease.
From kids screaming in shopping centres, it is to shopping I lay into.
On the positive side, I’ve grown up in a time where, thankfully, I can buy most things online. However I do still have to drag myself to shops for reasons of time or whatever now and then. Probably into a clothes shop, where it’s hot as hell and there are people scrambling through clothes like they'd go through a food parcel in a war-torn hole. They’ve probably bought the little toddlers along as well - but enough of them.
I don’t try on the clothes, whipping off my kegs behind a little curtain - no one wants to see it: I’ll do it in the privacy of my own darkened room. Besides, I’m pretty sure of my clothes sizes by now.
Or am I?
You’d think something like a measurement would be accurate, but, no, 34 inches is apparently different shop to shop! I’d been bought up thinking it was a standardised measurement but apparently shops have changed the rules on me.
Sometimes I have to go to a shopping centre, Lord above. Many, many shops in one confined place, FULL of people, of all varieties for all the various shops. They all seem to be walking towards you as well and I have to slalom between them and occasionally someone bumps into you and says nothing and the wave of people keeps coming.
Then you get to the shop, which is probably wedged between Primark and Boots so its swamped, you grab the one thing you came for and make a beeline for the queue, which is naturally massive and the one person serving is on training, on their own, while you can plainly see at least one other member of staff doing nothing at all. The person in front of you will ask about the “Clubcard scheme” or will have seven thousand items, just to annoy you; then you get there, pay and get out - but it’s not quite over.
There’ll be a few monkeys in tracksuits outside MacDonalds, of course, with their phones at full volume blasting out the latest dance-track to the point of utter distortion: it all adds to the ambience. Maybe there’ll be a couple screaming at each other that you have to carefully avoid, fingers-crossed eh? Back out into the air, you can breath, you are no longer sweating and there’s some silence. It’s like waking up from a coma: for a few minutes every thing's amazing because you’re out of that hell.
Spot on.
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