Polka Tulk

Something someone said the other day has had me thinking. If you define yourself as “A” then people will judge you on that: are you a good “A”?
I don’t like labels, I mean is any one of us really defined by a single aspect of our personalities or actions? Why would we want to be? Complex is pretty, complex is good, seemed that all I ever wanted was a, wait that’s the Foo Fighters.
I was in the Cardonald Greggs, it’s awfy wee, the staff obviously view “my type” as a potential threat, and they don’t have the new-style cuppa machine so it was back to black coffee with sugar sachets, those foil-topped mini milk-buckets and three (?) plastic stirrers in a paper bag, to make of your cuppa what you will in the privacy of your own home/ street/vehicle. It felt oddly old-school. Which is ironic, because that’s where I went to college, not Greggs, but Cardonald College, I’ve done a lot of my gas tickets there over the years. They keep moving the canteen, and it’s full of hairdressers. The college and the canteen.
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I began to collect childish things that I saw on ebay, replacing those that had been given away, lost or broken on my journey through the years.
And still I sit here after midnight in trousers with kneepads. It’s as if 2000AD knew what was coming 30 years ago, they anticipated Snickers work pants. I suppose somewhere in the back of my mind I must think I look like Johnny Alpha or Judge Dredd, but what I actually look like is an American window cleaner/ department of sanitation operative/ jannie.
All the mugs are empty, such a forlorn sight.