The Spirit of 2012

During that balmy summer of 2012, one of the greatest events in world history occurred. Something so extraordinary it managed to unite a nation. That nation? The EU member country of Great Britain. That event was, of course, the London 2012 Olympics. Athletes from the four corners of the globe came to compete in the culmination of Tony Blair’s Cool Britannia, and left as better people. For they had just competed in the greatest Olympiad of all time (and I’m including the Greek ones, here. They didn’t have taekwondo or badminton.)

It was during the opening ceremony, as Sir Simon Rattle performed Vangelis’ haunting score to Chariots of Fire with Mr Bean himself, Rowan Atkinson by his side, that I realised, this is MY Britain. Diverse, tolerant, fair, and above all, European. I broke down in tears there and then and stripped down to my Marks and Spencer underwear. I had never felt more connected to my fellow subjects.

But today, all that has changed. We are now in the deadly grip of an epidemic of which has the world on its knees in the bathroom, heaving up vomit and projecting diarrhoea onto the linoleum floor. The disease? Lazy millennials.

Take my son, Spencer. He is 28 years old, works part-time in a bowling alley, and still lives at home, eating MY Wispa Golds from MY section of the fridge, and making the entire first floor smell of musk and cum socks. Or how about 'The Voice of an Angel', Charlotte Church, who now spends her time spouting awful nonsense and swearing at grannies?

You see, that is all they do, millennials. Whine about how I, personally, have taken their livelihoods. How I have encouraged them to waste all their money on video playstations and Starbucks macchiatos.

And let’s not get started on the time I went into a Café Nero and froze in horror as the twentysomething be-noseringed creature asked me my order. Why did I freeze? Simply put, I had no idea what pronouns I was to use. I ended up ripping the perspex sneeze guard from the counter and smashing it against my own face, unable to verbalise the distress this person was causing me.

Tell me, were there tattoos, nose rings, and confusing, multicoloured gender neutral haircuts at the 2012 Olympics? Heck no! Imagine if, on that glorious Super Sunday, Greg Rutherford had leaped into the nation’s hearts with neon pink hair and a unicorn tail buttplug trailing from his anus, rather than beguiling us with his shock of coruscating red hair? The man would not be Celebrity Masterchef champion, that’s for sure.

But there is a solution. We can rebuild that spirit which united our once great nation. First, we must re-join the EU. I need not argue the benefits of this as they are completely self-evident.

But second, we need to put a broom in the hands of millennials and get them cleaning the streets…and their damn bedrooms! Once they have cleared out all the empty cans of Monster Bull and Big MacDonalds wrappers, they may be inspired to work towards a mortgage and a career in fintech.

On a final note, if we do not act now in reviving the spirit of 2012, we could lose an entire generation to disgusting fecklessness and socialism. I may have lost my son, and the nation of Wales lost Charlotte Church, but we can sure as hell save the rest!

Kelvin Knox | kelvinknox@bazake.co.uk | twitter: @2012studies