RANT - I Predict.....the end of.......

In the current recessionary climate, banks, monetary institutions and all manner of economic pundits, are falling over themselves to predict the depths of destitution to which it will drag our countries industry and international business. As they singularly failed to predict the origins and speed of its arrival, why we should pay a blind bit of notice to any of their pronouncements about its extent and expected time of departure, beggars belief. Each appears now to be vying for a future 'I was right' prize, the winner of which will see them rise to the top of the economic astrology charts, sell advice books to redundant 'short sellers,' become a much sought after business guru, and be fated as an oracle for the shareholders of 'Middle England'. Until, of course, they inevitable fail to spot the next economic downturn, and all kudos disappears rapidly down a cavernous plughole. It reached a height of ludicrousness this week when some burk (it may have been plural) announced this recession would mean 'the end of finance'. Oh, really!!! tell me another one do.

Competing with the economists for this 'Enlightened' status, are the cultural trend setters, out to be first to spot what the credit crunch will mean 'the end of'. People stop doing a lot of things in a recession, because they can't afford them, this doesn't mean that when better times return they've learnt their lesson and will never touch a silver plated 'blackberry', or a white buckskin sofa, ever ever again. I would like to make my own contribution to this parlour guessing game with a few modest predictions of my own.

I think the current recession will mean....

the end of..... paper - facebook will continue to increase phenomenally in popularity. What social conversation there is, will be conducted in short twelve word sentences, with no complicated syllables allowed. Grunts, coughs and 'cool,' will now count as penetrative social comment, and will be treated as a dehydrated sound bite. Anyone habitually more verbose than that, will risk being ostracised as suffering from acute 'social diarrhea.' Newspapers will as a consequence become referred to in street slang as 'arsebooks.'

the end of...water beds -water will be far too expensive, even to drink, we become a nation of meths drinkers - the slogan - 'I could throttle a bottle' - catches on.

the end of.... Tracey Emin - oh, how I wish this could be true.

the end of.... testicular jock straps - as finances get tight, men will want everything else to hang loose, rather than have their manhood trussed up like a turkey. It will bring a whole new meaning to the word 'austerity' i.e - to visibly hang your bollocks out.

the end of.... smiley badges,T shirts, flags, balls etc - these will just get soooo annoying, when they are used as part of a government backed 'cheer up Britain' campaign - with the catch phrases 'Its not that bad, really' and 'why worry Wally?' being heavily satirised.

the end of.... living in houses with tiled roofs - green tarpaulin slung casually over scaffolding and roof rafters to flap wildly in a gale, will make a huge come back as more new houses are left unfinished, and the owners of older houses cannot afford to complete repairing them.

the end of.... handbags - car use will decline, so - as you need a rugged four by four to transport your leather arm candy in - shopping trolleys will make a spectacular return. In the Karl Lagerfeld designed advert, Posh is seen dragging a black and silver bondage strapped trolley, like a dead designer punk, whose snow white mohican fringe aesthetically sweeps the pavement behind her. Women learn from this to treat the litter strewn, retail desert of our UK high streets, as just another very long catwalk / photo opportunity, and to blithely step over all on-coming beggars. 'They're a lot more use than my husband,' Posh wryly winks to camera. This remark does itself becomes a matter for conjecture, as its unclear whether she was referring to the shopping trolley, or the street tramps.

There, I'm sure at least one of those will prove themselves an outright winner.


My predictive acumen, once verified by the passage of time, will open up a whole new career path for me. Not only getting me a regular column in the Guardian weekend magazine, but numerous appearances on radio and TV quiz shows, where I'll make sweeping generalisations at the drop of a hat, be grossly rude about every minority social and disability group, exciting controversy on Radio 4 with my cavalier use of 'ironic offensiveness.' I'll become fluently adept at just opening my mouth and saying the first thing that comes into it, beginning or ending each sentence with an obligatory 'fuck, fucker or fucking', occasionally scattering the odd'twat', 'cunt,' or 'arsehole' around as a further verbal condiment. I'll have them rolling off their sofas in Surrey in outrage, before you can say Jimmy Carr was cloned from the DNA of Bernard Manning's sweat.