Wagwan bredrin: why we teens can’t speak proper
Feature writer Aaron Nelson discuses why teens can’t speak properly, or chose not to!
Being one of the few London teenagers who knows how to string an oral sentence together these days, it often baffles me when my little brother strolls into the room and decides to have a conversation with me. Hood up despite the chance of rain being less than the chance of Katie Price announcing to the world that she’s joining a nunnery, and limping like he’s suffered some sort of communist-like punishment for pinching half a grapefruit from the marketplace, he started talking to me as if a) he’s lived in the Bronx for twenty years and b) I can even begin to understand what he is saying.
Words like peak (adjective, def: a situation/event/person/object of top quality, e.g.: man, that social gathering was peak!), and G (proper noun, def: a title of endearment, e.g.: he’s a real G, trust!) wafted into the conversation like the spoken equivalent of a chain smoker’s breath at the end of a stressful day. At one point I’m sure he asked a question, but all I could do was nod and smile encouragingly.
When did this happen? When did walking around like some sort of inefficient flasher with your trousers halfway down your backside come into vogue? What great god stood before their apostles and said “Lo, it shall come to pass that all sixteen-year-olds will walk around rapping to themselves like great pillocks?”