Is it possible to write an entire newspaper column moaning about young people in baseball caps?
Well, let’s find out.
Sitting in the pub the other evening, me and my significant other (she’s moved on from ‘other’ and into new, dangerous territory. ‘Significant other’ is one below ‘other half’ and we all know that never ends well) were watching people coming and going from a restaurant across the road.
Like most cynical middle-aged couples we had nothing good to say about the harmless individuals going about their business. No one is safe from our withering gaze and caustic tongue.
Jesus could materialise on the high street as part of his much-vaunted second coming and find himself on the end of a sarcastic “nice sandals” with accompanying eye-roll. (“Yes, and judging by the state of his toe-nails, it would appear the pedicurists all went to hell.”)
As we were mowing down all and sundry with our sledgehammer wit, along came a young couple who could have just stepped off the Love Island booze bus after an excursion to Geordie Shore via Towie villas.
Their skin was glowing orange, their tattoos freshly polished and teeth gleaming a phosphorus ultra white.
How, I wondered, do they get that skin colour? It’s certainly not from our sun. Perhaps they sunbathe by moonlight! Topping it up with the glow from a mobile phone. I dunno. Maybe they sunbathe by Napalm. That might explain the state of their jeans. Distressed? Petrified more like. “Bleedin’ inconsolable,” I ventured.
Anyway, I digress (maybe they sunbathe by the glow of each other’s teeth).
Despite their appearance, I was drawn to their caps. They had matching fawn baseball caps.
To their credit, they were wearing them the right way round, but I watched them enter the restaurant and be ushered to single table in the window. I couldn’t take my eyes off them as they perused the menu (they always peruse, never look, or read, always peruse, always), laughing and joking with the staff.
Ten minutes in and I knew what was bothering me.
“They aren’t going to take them off are they?” Sure enough. The meals arrived and they kept their caps on! Who keeps a hat on while eating at a restaurant? The Pope, maybe, but surely good manners dictate you take your hat off. Nope, the headgear remained on for the majority of their meal. Even I couldn’t justify a full cap watch evening, we left before dessert. To be fair I’d run out of cap-based moans anyway.
The hats were affectations. They arrived at the restaurant when there was no sun in the sky, so they were serving to practical purpose.
And there is no baseball club in Whitley Bay, so that excuse is out of the window.
But to hark back to my original question, the answer is no. I can’t take up a whole column moaning about young people in caps.
Isn’t it terrible that Boris Johnson has resigned. He got us into this mess, didn’t he?