Is it me or has age and the passing of another year turned me even more like Victor Meldrew.
I ask this question as I sit out in the warming winter sun of the Costa Blanca, a world away from cold old Britain.
Leaving behind the stress and woes of running a pub it wasn’t the thought of drunken punters that took up my time (I can handle them any day) or the quality of the cask ale.
No, the major problem I encountered last year were the cheeky and downright ignorant teenagers that barge into the York to use the facilities (toilets to the uninitiated).
Gangs of up to five or six youths regularly just gate crash the front doors, not a care in the world and head for the loos.
As a point of law, one of the licensing objectives is to protect children from harm.
Roughly translated that means any child under the age of eighteen is not permitted to enter the premises without an adult.
It’s not like they ask, they just walk in bold as brass and look totally uninterested if challenged (which I do) and then more than often leave uttering expletives and threats on the way out.
Once again I ask myself about the youth of this town - do their parents have a clue or even care what they are up to?
I wouldn’t actually mind if their mums and dads were regulars in the York. However on nearly every occasion it’s a case of them not really caring about what they do and how dare I, a mere adult, challenge them over their actions.
It’s all down to respect, something I’m afraid is missing from the education of today’s teenagers and should be taught by parents. Maybe it should be part of the national curriculum, however educationalists would shun that idea as too draconian - they’d prefer most be doing media studies or other nondescript subjects.
You never know, I may return home next week and find the ferrel youths of our town have turned over a new leaf. I could then utter that famous quote - “I don’t believe it!”