Now Is The Winter Of Your Discontent
Balaclava’s, man.
The greatest socially unacceptable garment you could possibly wear. The status of this particular garment saddens me and not only that, but because of this, I have to let the hailstone bash my face to bits because you just cannot wear a balaclava anymore, can you? You definitely can not. They are reserved only for the consumption of bank robbers, baby snatchers and those folks that just want to set bombs off on aeroplanes. If I walked past someone, anyone, on the street wearing a balaclava, merely for the comfort of my face against the harsh, windswept rain, they would fear for their lives that I was about to pinch their Umbrella and their new Cassette Walkman. This extended woolly hat isn’t going to win you any friends today. So, why is there something so intimidating and gruesome about only being able to see someone’s facial features from cut out holes from a bit of wool? Who knows?!? But, let me tell you – The first bank robber to wear his winter headgear to swipe some swag certainly had his thinking cap on, but simultaneously ruined the northern hemisphere winter for us all, and the criminal activity within them has ensured that all face-covering garments carry criminal connotations. As long as the world is safe from balaclava-sporting angry mobs. We’re just fucked if we want to keep warm.
So, here’s to terrorism and to crime. A simultaneous salutation for the underlying principle my face stays cold in winter. Rain. Sleet. Hailstone. They all collide and collect in that little gap between my cheek and my nose, and that’s just right bastard uncomfortable. Back when I was at school, getting twatted with a plastic football to the bare skin of the face always hurt so much in the cold winter too. All which could have been prevented by an innocent, thermal balaclava. For shame.
