Gettin down with the youth, tell it as it is : An exhaustive study of modern youth culture

“Well your name came of out of the hat, I P, so it’s your task. You are now the youth culture correspondent,” said the LCD Views’ Editor.

“Monumental Searchlight is on a fact finding tour to Uranus. Rosie Searchlight is hunting butterflies and Moonlight Searchlight has gone missing. So it’s your baby.”

“Well, I know a Tarquin at the rugby club. I could speak to him.”

“No! I mean youth culture from the street!” replied the Editor.

“You mean…….!”

“Yes, go to an inner city skatepark! LCD Views has to know what the kids are saying and thinking,” the Editor retorted. Get the clothes, the cap, learn the language and report back.”

I’d give anything for that butterfly story right now, I thought.

Through a friend of a friend of a friend I find Henry, the coolest skate dude in the park. We agree to meet. I park the Prius several streets away, lock it and screw in a few more wheel nuts for luck.

There’s a guy chipping away at new Banksy mural painted up on the side wall. Small crowd of art correspondents chattering to each other and to no one else.

I look around, I check the bowl. I hear grinding behind me. “Yo neat olly,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “So, wots happin’?”

“Skunking man, you that guy that called me? Mate your caps on all wrong. F*ckin no idea bro.”

“Oh, thanks bro…..” God I’m hating this right now. I’m well out of my depth, I thought. “So, wot you think of Stormzy?” I ask.

“F*ckin good man, says it as it is,” says Henry to a backbeat of artificial percussion. “Raps like a demon, speakin’ for da streets. Shit work, zero hours, high rents, fast food chain rippin’ me off cos I didn’t turn up one evening for their shit wage. F*ck man, they only gave me half hour notice.”

“I guess you didn’t go to Uni then?” I ventured.

“Mate, they said my art was bangin’, they liked the art on my skate…but then they said I had to pay to learn. F*ck that, I found a better way.”

“How so?” I ask.

“See that Banksy over there. Well that dude never leaves Bristol. But, he and I have a kinda understandin’. Know wot I mean? Dont you tell no f*cker, I have an eye on your wheels.”

“Bro, your secret is safe with me,” I assured him.

We do a complicated handshake, I’m slightly off the pace. “I never realised you were a freemason!” I said. Henry looked at me strangely and sloped off. “Can I call you again bro?” He wings his hand (thumb out, little finger out mid three folded).

“That’s a good sign…….right?” I ask. Cool….. I live for another day.

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