It meant nothing

A bit of a biographical piece, the catalyst of which was His Holiness Paul Weller's 'When You're Young', from The Jam's Setting Sons LP. A few facebook friends will recognise bits & bobs, here.

It all stopped bein’ what you know at age fourteen,

Life-lessons came from Smithers-Jones and Mr Clean

A rebirth at our forté, yet still nothing’s changed,

Tories back in power and even more deranged.

 

And we still get nothing…

…the state’s a joke, they tax our smoke and up yours, mate.

 

Now boys and girls at Christmas practise safer sex

Nothing like when we were young; this was from your ex:

A letter stating, “I’d got thrush, now you’ve got pox,”

Our one protection those days? Keep your fingers crossed.

 

And we still knew nothing…

…we’d had a poke, blew up in smoke and up yours, mate

 

Us mods loved Weller, Teds went ‘wella-wella-hoo’,

And greasy Rockers snot-danced, didn’t care on who.

We all got high, kissed the sky, Skinhead, Rude Bwoy, Punk.

That culture stood for zip once you’d smoked black or skunk.

 

And we still learnt nothing…

…we had a toke, went down The Smoke and up yours mate.

 

No mobile phones, BBM - when you were out, you’d gone

No telling when you’d be back, just kept rollin’ on.

Oh, Victoria Park…arrested, in the dock;

Time, it was our ally, not ticking down a clock.

 

And we still won nothing…

…the Wolves at Stoke. Cops! Holy Smoke!  And up yours, mate.

 

But now those bells are ringing, getting very loud

Bring me anonymity, sod the cowing crowd.

My bones are wracked, mind has cracked, let me rest in peace.

I’ve calcified, this Jason’s lost his Golden Fleece.

 

And I’ll die with nothing…

…smell burning coke, bring on that smoke, and up yours mate.

Author's Note

Having just turned 42, had one hip op already and with suspected osteo-arthritis, that promise of life starting over seems somewhat empty.
'Youth is wasted on the young', said the great Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw - he wasn't wrong...