Aye. Birthday cards for mams ain’t wha’ they used to be. When I were a lad we ‘ad eet tough, I can tell yer. Yer 'ad to be straight to t' point, or else you'd get a whack on t' temple with a hobnail boot. Today’s birthday cards for mams are namby-pamby rubbish. These days you get ‘Happy birthday. You old cunt.’ Wha’ a load of southern softy nonsense. All tha' pussyfooting abou’, beating abou’ t’ bush. Eet makes me cloth cap jump inside out, eet does. Even me ferret gets in a reet lather abou' eet. Eet makes me want to bring back t’ grand old days when cards for yer beloved mater were full of proper cheery straight-talking salutations like ‘Have a happy birthday. I hope it is filled with joy and happiness.’ That’s a reet proper card. Tells eet ‘ow eet is, eet does. There’s no messing abou’ with ambiguity.
Aye, those were t’ days. I can remember when I gave me dearest mam her first birthday card. I bought eet from t’ local store on me way back home from working down pit. I did a ‘ard day’s work, as did us donkey, but I still ‘ad t' energy and enthusiasm to walk to t’ store. I was only ten, and I knew me place, and me place was t’ respect me mam by giving ‘er an honest, truthful, plain-speaking birthday card. T' proprietor of t’ store led me through t’ selection of six fine cards. T' one I chose were a fitting card for a beautiful woman. ‘Have a wonderful day. May all your birthday dreams come true.’ She were right chuffed. There were a tear in her eye. She knew eet took a tower of strength to buy a reet grand card like tha’.
Aye. Swearing sells cards alreet
Today’s meaningless profanity disguises t’ truth; t’ truth being tha’ today’s lame folks can’t bring themselves to say t' truth. T’ truth sticks in their craw, you see. So instead they need to sugarcoat eet wi’ profanity. ‘Shit. You’re fucking old’ translates as You’re an amazing person who ‘as lived a damn fine life. While ‘70, and still a massive cunt’ says You’ve gained t’ respect of us family and peers and we love you for eet.
This sort of pretend cussing is blasphemy t’ me ears. I’m no prude. I once made a pot of tea over t’ kitchen coal fire in t’ nude. But some nincompoops in t’ so-called quality press will ‘ave you believe such profanity reflects t’ way people converse today, as eet says ‘ere in the Guardian newspaper
Apparently, ‘Happy birthday you old cunt’ is meant to be jocular and for folk you know really well. If I wanted to be jocular wi’ me mam, I wouldn’t ‘ave called her a cunt. And I knew her well. She would ‘ave been mortified by eets evasiveness and namby-pambyness and written us out of t’ will. And she wouldn’t ‘ave left me t’ donkey.
Am not sure wha' relationship today’s folks ‘ave wi' their mams, but eet ain’t wholesome. Eets disrespectful, for one thing. And they’re weak-willed to boot. These people ‘ave t' moral strength and courage of a bird-brained Premiership footieballer. Aye. Wishy-washy lot, they are. Us society has lost eets way, alreet.
All this cultural laxity means any old folk can say wha’ t’ bleedin’ ‘ell they like. Eets a disgrace. Eet takes courage and bravery of a lion defending his pride to say eet straight and wi’ true meaning. Rather than sticking to t’ strict rules of t’ moral guidance of yesteryear they instead wander off and go around t’ ‘ouses wi’ their vague and loosely written birthday cards. Wha’ a load of tripe, and I should know abou’ tripe. Me bones were built from t’ stuff.
Eets t’ young folk today I feel sorry for. How can they gain t’ respect and love of their mams when all they can say is ‘Happy birthday, you old cunt’? They should be brave and stand for theeselves, and in true I am Spartacus style, proudly step forward and give their mam a card tha' says ‘Happy birthday. My wonderful Mum.’ That’s reet proper, tha’ is.
Aye. Birthday cards for mams ain’t wha’ they used to be.
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