THE JOY OF TAGGING

P.s. my apologies for a temporary loss of humour. Please do not adjust your internet.

So you see, being a basically openminded, tolerant-of-nothing-and-everything leftwing fagloving weirdo, I find that you know, whatever floats your boat is cool as long as it does not hurt, harm or affect anyone else. Sure, if you want to indulge in some really bizarre practices as long as they do not hurt anyone else, then there is not one reason in the world why someone should try to stop them.

Mind you, even the most liberal leftwing pinko weirdo must confess that the thought of consensual cannibalism is just plain barmy, and frankly, should not be tolerated.

But there�s other things that whilst seemingly are victimless, are no doubt crimes, and should be punished. The first one, in fact, the main one, that really gets me, are crimes against property. Now, it seems that property is far more protected than the individual in certain laws, and not at all in others. And its not a new crime : I remember, way back in 1989, being some na�ve mummy�s boy teenager, wandering around my wonderfully suburban hovel that was Cotteridge (just to the left of the Chocolate Factory, and a bit crap), noticing even then that Cotteridge wasn�t my home.

Cotteridge you see belonged to the Cotteridge Posse. Or at least, I think that's what they were called when I was growing up. But in actual fact, they were just kids with spray cans.

Of course, people just grow up like this. I remember a young boy I once knew, briefly, a sweet thing, who now, somewhere his twenties still hasn�t grown up. He and his pals allegedly drive around car parks and hills in souped up pieces of second-hand fourwheel drive cars, their speakers bumping with atonal rhythms, taking photographs of their encounters with West Midlands Finest and of their birds in nuddy poses, posting them on the internet, and boasting of their antisocial behaviour orders.

Now, at this point I should point out I got completely the wrong end of the stick and mistook some people who like cars for some people who like tagging and being jerks. It was a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, me more than others sometimes. So lets get over it, shall we?

Call me a snob. Call me a Evening Standard reader. Sure, it�s an easy mistake to make, to mistake someone who thinks there�s more to life than being antisocial and racing a round in cars avoiding a job for someone who wants to hang all darkies. I don�t want to hang all the darkies : just one of them. Robert Mugabe. That said, I�d settle for Pinochet in the noose. You know, I�m not that fussy.

I haven�t even got round to what I really wanted to mention. Something far bigger than that.

Sunday mornings, all across the world. From Epsom to Edmonton. From Kings Cross to Cathay. Struggling Jo�s and John�s arise from their hardfought slumber, leave their cripplingly-mortgaged suburban flats, yawn, pick up a paper from the newsagents, and on the way back notice something different, something new.

The Chelmsford Kru. The Chav Army. And they�ve been busy. For the sake of a cheap thrill, for the sake of a seconds boredom, they�ve gathered together in packs of ten or more � because after all, they�ve got a tenth of a brain cell each � and roamed the region, like a pride of lions, except lions have something to be proud about.

And what have they noticed? What have they seen?

People are such wankers sometimes. Some people never think about what they should do. Only what they could do. And then they did it.

So, you hardworking Schmoes, with your cars, your houses, you are nothing but scum. Nothing but the playthings of these creatures. In the night you were �Tagged�. What a wonderful phrase. Kind of like Tig, but you know, worse. Gangs of children took spray cans, and delicately repainted your cars, your houses, your bridges, with their own designs.

But lets look beyond that. I�m sick of getting on tubes and trains and finding out that they belong to the GANJA KRU, STREATHAM POSSE, T0X1C, or whoever else these illiterate shits are, desperately trying to mark the territory like urinating animals. Do something creative with your life, not something destructive.

I�m sick of sitting on trains and finding that the insides have been spraypainted by whatever 14 year old stupid virgin thinks he owns this turf. I�ve seen them : they�re very big and unfortunately, almost clever, because they hang around in gangs to make sure nobody disturbs them. Besides, there�s safety in numbers. Come on, would you � or anyone � ask them politely to stop? Nah. They�ll just Tag you with spraypaint and scarper. Spraypaint can do nasty things to orifices like the eyes. The risk is too much.

But there�s also no doubt that if you�re that good, and when the going gets weird, go Pro. Get paid to be a weirdo. Claim you�re doing research. After all, being legit is the best cover anyone can get.

Nonetheless, I advocate a Zero Tolerance policy towards these wankers. Give them Tagging Licences and licenced places to Tag (I would nominate their own bedrooms, for example), and only grant them licences if they shown a decent amount of artistic merit, and, come to think of it, some talent. Otherwise it�s just graffiti.

And everybody know it takes no talent to write your name on a wall with a spraypaint can. (Besides which think of all that wasted Ozone!)

Alternately, lets try a good-old-fashioned right-wing Evil-Conservative approach. Make the people who do the Tagging clean the tubes, the trains, the walls they tag. Make them repaint the trains, pay for the new paint jobs on the cars they �tag�. Make the victims of their stupid, idiotic crimes perform a bit of good old-fashioned Kangeroo court justice. Make their houses �open houses�. Supply at the door spray paint cans and, if you want to be artistic, some templates to paint through, so you can daub their own walls, their own houses, their own cars (should they ever actually drive one they haven�t stolen) with some particularly fine scrawl in a multitude of colours, illiterate and weird. Let all people know the facts : this tube, this train, this world, doesn�t belong to the CLAPHAM KRU or the CAR5HALTON P0SSE. No way.

But his home, his room, his life, belongs to Us. Let�s tag him. Sometimes these people are just plain fucking stupid, and nothing can change the fact. The only way they can learn, the only language they can understand, is that of retribution. That of the sins returning. Show them the full consequences of their actions as they affect others. Every struggling family trying to make ends meet, facing the fact that they have to drive in a car that�s been spraypainted by a bunch of stupid wankers because they need to buy food instead of paint.

One day mankind will evolve. One day we (that is, all of us) will not be spraypainting other people's homes to stave off boredom. One day we might actually respect other people.

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