Remember those kids in school, the one's who ran the gauntlet of abuse every morning as they strode defiantly the playground on their way to registration. Their only crime being that they happened to support their local football club and happen to be proudly displaying the team's colours on the new scarf they've just bought. Remember their glow of comfort they used to give off as they removed the "Dick Less" sign from the back of the duffle coat, only for their indignity to be prolonged by further ridicule from the groovy geography teacher; " Don't laugh at Martin, after all he does support the strongest team in the league, yeah, they're holding everyone else up." Cue apopletic laughter as the entire class falls to their feet beating their chest like they are at some satanic rutual. Even those who don't follow football and are there hoping to find out a little more about "meanders" are rolling in the aisles. Martin's not bothered, to him it's water off a duck's back, he's seen it all before. For Martin, knowledge that he follows his local club is enough for him, he lives on a higher plain, something the majority of the class couldn't begin to understand. He looks beyond the results, for him it's the fashions, the smells, the menace, the sad, the pathetic, the futility of life as well as the joy etched on the faces of the fans around. Martin is already years ahead of everyone else in 4C. Ah the memories.

Well the reality is that most fans of lower league teams will say and do anything to avoid getting their head kicked. Simply asking if one went to Old Trafford on Saturday as they seem to recall every second of the action could ultimately result in a series of running dead legs. So you take the easy route and suggest that " Arsenal/Man Utd/Liverpool/Everton (delete as applicable) have excellent chances of winning the league this year." Even worse you adopt a first divsion team as a second team. Bigamy is apparently allowed in football. It's one thing to conform when you attend a school in North London that is 99 per cent either Arsenal or Spurs but when you live in the middle of nowhere and it takes a plane journey to get to Birmingham, surpressing your love for the local team is just wrong. But even though my own experience is one of denying my right to party, thankfully there are Emmeline Pankhurst's out there who will fly the flag simply because however miniscule it may seem to others it represents their life. They can tolerate the final demand letters, the broken boiler, the patronising tone of their boss because come Saturday they will be endulging in the one activity that sets them apart from everyone else. Now all this devotion is well documented, there are hundreds of books and articles written by people far more intelligent and better writers than myself but the monopoly which they exert is being eroded and it's being eroded by a group called " Social Commentators". It sounds vaguely like something to do with not having your bins emptied but the truth is far more frightening . These people are essentially paid to pass comment on the very things me and you take for granted. The difference between them and a rock or sports journalist is that instead of analysing what is in front of them in the context of the arena it is being played out, they make suggestions as to how it fits into the fabric of Society. In a nutshell, think all those twats on Channel 4 list programmes who talk about " how Britpop was a state of mind " and how England's exit from Euro 96 " was an allegory for the end of tory rule and the labour domination that was to follow, and you have some idea. In short, bullshit. Now of course this is all subjective and I am not here to lecture people on what to think ( well maybe a little), but it's the audacity of it all that concerns me. The fact that we now have a self appointed officer through whom we must channel all our opinions. It's farcical that there is a recognised position for something we do everyday. You don't see a professional "queuer" or somone being paid for breathing and yet we now have a representative who is going to represent the mundane, the ironic, the feckless, on our behalf.

If society wanted everyone's opinions to be broadcast they's install mic stands in pubs and bus stops. To the social commentator, nothing is disposable, everything has value. And yet by elevating everything beyond it's station they are sucking what little value or worth it had in the first place. Social commentary is the equivalent of a comedian explaining every punchline or every artist deconstructing their masterpiece.

With the social commentary, nothing is sacred. Everything is turned over until some value can be found. All those years of developing a view point on something you genuinely love can be all but destroyed on the basis of one phone call. And it won't be long before Emmeline Pankhurst gets that call ; " Hi, understand you support a team that's lower down or something ? Great, love to come down and chat to you and then use our own opinions and put them into a context that has absolutely no relevance. Be great yeah? Sorry, i wasn't sure if you spoke english what with you not living in London." Then again I don't think Emmeline has anything to worry about.

This Nazi thing is just a passing phase

Just imagine a world where taxes are levied on people for talking bullshit. Granted I would be destitute and there would be no more Big Brother house but think of the positives: free education for all, pot hole-less roads and no more of that condescending lispy twat on GMTV who dishes out the same financial advice irrespective of your circumstances or the reason you got into debt in the first place; " You don't need 2 kids, sell one!".

I'm not for one minute suggesting that it won't be tricky selecting who should be up for eviction .. I mean taxation. I mean Louis Walsh can talk shit with the best of them but would you really relish seeing him opening his front door on a Saturday morning only to see a brown envelope lodged in his post box asking for immediate payment to the sum of the national debt of a small African country. He's harmless enough isn't he? But if you let Walsh off the hook then it pretty much opens the floodgates to everyone else and that is not what we want. Maybe we need a criteria, one that protects the more vulnerable groups in society. One that tolerates a level of bullshit but brings the foot firmly down if any transgression is made. So with this in mind I propose forthwith that people can only be taxed if they are deemed to use language or a group of related phrases that are recognised as bullshit under the laws of....... well me . This will include taxation to be levied on persons who have been proved to be using and I quote " modern phrases that elevate someone's self importance more than they scarcely fucking deserve. For example term such as " What goes on in Blackpool stays in Blackpool " a term used frequently by hen and stag goers the length and breadth of the country. Not only does it wreak of "look at me" but suggests that that the event that they are waxing lyrical about was far from the hedonistic roller coaster they are making it out to be.

The reality is that for most people Blackpool equates to a continuation of misery and a strong chance of venereal disease. However by making such a statement they are elevating Mad Mick's stag do to the level of Churchill's war cabinet or the inner sanctum that worked on The Manhattan Project . The truth is probably that Lager Dave had a few two many and pissed himself and Trigger Steve fell asleep in his kung po. Nothing to worry the driver of the night bus let alone the wives and girlfriends standing by the phone with a mug of cocoa fearing the worst. It's too much to admit that the stag do blew out of steam after the first few hours and quite a few fancied going back to the Travelodge and watching Match of the Day whilst struggling to fill one of those travel kettles using the shower head. No fucking way! The first rule of the stag is to exaggerate how much fun you had even though it pretty much disintegrated when the words " Go Karts" were used.

It's probably a good job those who witnessed the atrocities during the second world war didn't buy into this view point; " I wouldn't worry too much about the Nazis, probably just a passing phase. No one will remember them next year let alone in 50. You mark my words!". You never see check out attendants in Tesco huddling in a group shouting " What goes on the scan machine, stays in the scan machine". Why? Because no one gives a shit other than the very people involved but that doesn't give them carte blanche to elevate their own personal enjoyment to that of public consumption. Then again it can only be a matter of time before "Trev the Nutter's Stag Do - Barcelona 2010" is presented as part of an installation art demonstration at The Tate Modern. Another phrase warranting the Bullshit Tax or BST as it will be known from now on is " Step up to the plate". For the uninitiated " S.U.T.T.P." comes from Baseball jargon referring to the incoming batter taking their mark prior to trying to twat the ball out of the stadium, as a metaphor it is used to refer to someone who is prepared to or is in dire need to show some backbone, some balls to actually make a stand,to show what they are made of. The problem is that in the UK a plate is something you eat your dinner off and the idea of having to take a step to eat something is frankly ridiculous. This means nothing to the perpretrators of this idiocy. In their minds they are the Al Pacino character in Any Given Sunday. The reality however is that they are a team leader and they work in Greggs. " Come on guys, we're running low on steak bakes, let's hustle."

Of course the downfall in my argument is that if people didn't use the type of phrases I'm refferring to then the BST tax wouldn't work and pot holes wouldn't be filled and children would be illiterate so for the sake of students and motorists long may it continue. That reminds me I must book the stripper for Napalm Alan's Hen Party in Truro.