As I am taking some time out of London down in Dorset, at my mothers house, I thought maybe some cigarettes would be in order. I enjoy being by the Sea but nothing quite clears up a view of the horizon like a cloud of nicotine-infused blue smoke whiffing from my lungs to obscure that view.
Strolling to the local Tesco Express in RichTownTM (Sandbanks Road, Liliput) I knew that what was missing was a packet of my favourite Red Pall Malls. After having been IDed from both this shop and the other local Coop shop nearby, being found without ID, and CLEARLY under the age of 18 years old, as a 25 year old the powerlessness which I felt I choose to direct into a cutting analysis of what is WRONG with the people down here in comparison to the people in London, that they don't actually believe I am not a girl just out of school on her way to collect her A-Level Results.
Because now I have to hop on my bike in order to get cigarettes, I feel my morning of relaxing has been ruined, and I am still not sure that I will be served at the next nearest shop. I have to think about putting on make-up so I LOOK like I COULD be over 18. Quite embarrassing. I could have made the whole thing easier by bringing some ID with me however I don't think about this anymore as I am actually 25 years old and served everywhere I go in London Town.
1. They think that Bournemouth is a Good Night Out
B-mouth, as it is known, is a total shit hole. Having paced myself through some teenage nights out in the only town in this part of Dorset where young people have to go out, I know this first-hand. I once spent a school holiday working at a bar in town where the drinks were bought using a bar-code gun for example. That was designated as 'FLASH'. The fact that the owner of this bar was an ex-criminal who used to run the drug scene in Bournemouth and was rumoured to have once coaxed a hamster up his bum (True Story), didn't matter. His name was Richard (Dick) something and he used to rock up at the bar in his massive black Range Rover, order 1 large glass of Pinot Grigio, intimidate the manager and then simply Fuck Off. Driving his 4 by 4. I once went to another bar he owned in town, which was called Sugar or some other cringey name, and saw a girl on the tubbier side of life being fingered at the bar. At the actual bar. So, that is how classy the night-life in B'Mouth is.
2. They build stupidly conceived pallatial mansions that should be in Orange County (Footballer city)
Because nobody in this part of Dorset (Bournemouth/Poole) ever really leaves, or reads books about History as they are mainly nouveau-riche, their idea of a great house to live in is a GIANT box, either white or beige, which has some ill-conceived Doric columns at the front door. The front door has to be bigger than an HM prisons in order to bring-out the full effect. All the old houses in Sandbanks have to be pulled-down and the trees ripped up in order to let-in this new brand of massive dick and upset the views of the sea for the residents who have lived here for laaaang-taam. That is not to say that all of the houses are awful, SOME are beautiful, but I am specifically talking about the irritatingly gigantic show-offy ones.
A lot of these houses look like houses on steroids and now walking along the spit of Sandbanks gives you the feeling similar to when you just walked into a Gym full of eggheads pumping iron and sweating away their dull day jobs. The fact that showing-off money is a contagious local game, is a problem as now these houses have germinated (the sickly opposite of pollinated) across the whole panorama of Sandbanks. And an area of natural beauty is now beginning to look more and more like a Playmobile plastic town of massive Americanised houses. I say houses, I mean mansions with as much architectural wisdom as caravans. The place looks like how Malibu would feel on a hangover. No-one moves into these houses though as they are mainly built for aaagggeess and then once they are made, just have a FOR SALE BY APPOINTMENT sign up outside because the place is run by the property companies who actually forget that families have to move into these monstrosities.
3. They don't believe I am actually 25 years old
If I ever meet my biological parents, then the first thing I would say would be, 'Could you not have tried to make me look less like a babe-faced killer?' Until that day comes, I have to deal with baring the brunt of various shop girls and boys who genuinely want to Lord their power over me, as I don't infact, look over the legal age of 21 years old. The better way to look at it I suppose, is that I have done an awful lot of things for a 21 year old, and should be proud of myself. Perhaps life would be just easier, if I began to believe I was infact only 21. But I like being 25.
So the local problem in relation to the title of this post, is Why Do I look younger to People in Dorset than People in London? Because it is less multicultural? Because there are more youngsters who are driven to smoking under-age in Bournemouth because of the very things noted down in this blog? Because people in this local area are generally just more like dicks than people in London who are more open-minded to things?
I don't know. But I had to spend £8.10 on a 20 pack of B & H Gold from the local Oddbins in order to calm down enough to write this.
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