fuck the millenium

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, I want to explain to you my feelings about the millenium, which are as follows:

The year two oh oh oh, is significant only in marking two thousand years since two thousand years ago; it is an arbitrary date. Even if you believe in that Christianity bollocks it's highly unlikely that it really is two thousand years since Mr Christ spat out from between Mary's legs.

So what will happen, Mr Flinch, I hear you asking? Well number one some nutters will kill themselves, or members of some creed, nationality or sexuality they happen to believe are representatives of the devil, this is, I'm afraid, inevitable, so get ready for the media hysteria. Number two many computers across the world too out of date to store a four digit year will believe that it is no longer 99, but 00 ie the the 1900. Does this matter? It depends, suppose a neglected Russian power plant decides it hasn't been checked for -99 years, what will it do? No one knows. My money is, quite literally, on the big banks having got their act together already, but you can guarantee something, hopefully not hospitals and probably not in the rich nations, will fuck up.

In terms of the petty, middle class student life we lead the biggest question on our minds, is, brother/sister, what are we going to do for a party on Y2K? Well, bear in mind that even going into your local Firkin will cost you about twenty quid, and buying a drink will require taking out a new student loan. What to do then? Staying at home and going to sleep like Spike Milligan isn't a bad idea, neither, for that matter, is barricading your house and watching the fireworks on the BBC.

However, my personal decision, based on the cynical mind of my beautiful lady friend, is to rip off all the suckers paying crazy quids to drink piss with their aunties who haven't left the house since 1989, by working that night, in a bar, or as a babysitter. It may be one night of hell, but a very profitable one. Then, taking advantage of cheap post apocalypse air trips, we'll leg it to a hot place for a dirty week or two.

My attention span is now exceeded,

Out like Portillo,

Mr Flinch