After dying my hair Midnight Blue I was ready yesterday to head to the Goth Picnic. Whilst a few hundred thousand people were sat in Hyde Park Making Poverty History. I was sat in Regents Park making a four pack of lager and some pringles history.
Who will be remembered better?
It was a long long and fun fun day/night.
The picnic started at 2pm ish, it was odd seeing such a large group of Goths hanging in a group in Camden, and I was part of them. What a difference a year or ten make.
Although, I wasn’t completely part of them. I will tell you now for a fact that I was the only Goth in the group, possibly in Camden, even the world, that was wearing a cardigan. I WON’T CONFORM.
I’d decided to bring a blanket too, it was a cool blanket, the one I’d bought in the mud at Glastonbury last year. and in Sainsbury’s I bought a quiche.
When we all went to sit down I realised that not only were some of the group about 16/17, but that I was old in years and actions.
I’d gone to a goth picnic with a quiche, a blanket and a cardigan… that’s not the behaviour of a Goth. That’s the behaviour of a Goth’s dad somewhere in Surrey.
Thank god I don’t have boules.
The day was much fun and I drank lots, then we all went out, and I stayed out until 8 in the morning. Proving that despite my Dadness I can still party with the young folk. I just hope that in my big goth boots I wasn’t doing a dad style dance like in The Mary Whitehouse Experience in about 1991.
Sad thing is, a lot of the young goths at the picnic would have no idea what I’m on about.
And if you’re reading, youngsters… that’s you that is.
Milky milky