I suppose it’s a bit like that thing, ‘suck-teeth’ l believe they cry it, and, according to an urban slang blog l just looked at, I’m triggered to do my version of it for the very same reasons, mostly. These shared reasons are to express “disgust, defiance, disapproval, disappointment, frustration”, or (and here’s the one l can really identify with), “impatience”.

From now on we shall call these collective pissing-off triggers DDDDFI. 

Suck-teeth, you will no doubt know if you have ever half skimmed the same urban slang blogs that l have, is the “gesture of drawing air through the teeth and into the mouth to produce a loud sucking sound”.

My version of suck-teeth is different.


Whenever l’m in public, and encounter inevitable imbeciles dodering aboot, glakit and glazed at the mid-point of an apparent aimless wander and getting in the way of my more purposeful endeavourous strides; mibee when l’m getting on or off buses and trains; or mibee in front of me at Tesco tills – that’s when l express my DDDDFI. But, as I said, musically.

Here’s an example – it is when, at the very last possible moment, when every barcode has been pinged and every item is already packed and poking through 57p bags, just at that moment when there is the inevitable slow dawning realisation on their literally thoughtless faces that payment for the bounty is now required. It is when they now start rifling through bags and pockets to find cards and phones, and as l find myself stuck behind them, that’s when, what l do is, when the feeling takes me, l find myself humming variations on The Cuckoo Waltz. 

It’s from the Laurel and Hardy films. You may know the tune.

I do it loud enough to be heard. l know its probly not being recognised as intended, but it still gives me the great satisfaction of, in my own head at least, calling a clown a fucken clown. Plus, inevitably, l do it so often these days that it pisses the missus off; she knows exactly what and at whom l’m implying implicitly at (well, it’s obvious to us, at least) so she absolutely loathes it when l start grunting out what l believe to be the perfect soundtrack to idiots-ineptly-carrying-pianos-and-such, and aimed at some unknowing clown in front of us. Sometimes l even just hum it if she drops a spoon, in the kitchen. Just to be a pain in the cock.

It is a cheery tune, but l am calling you a clown.

I used to love the old Laurel and Hardy movies when they stuck them on every teatime, BBC2 l think it was, back when we only had the three channels on the box, poor us, but l suppose we must now admit that the B&W comedy duo’s time has come and gone, and mibee the musical reference is now too subtle for a more modern audience. 

So, in my continuing pursuit of clarity; some of you may only hear it as a cheery wee tune, grunted by a weary old man who unintentionally mibee looks a wee bit like a sad The Edge. But when you hear it, and trust me, the way things are going, and the way you lot are, going by the evidence and experience l have gained up until now with regard to my own patience intolerance levels and my DDDDFI, you probably will hear my 1930’s comedy musical grunting.

It will be from behind you.

And when you do hear it please believe that l am indeed, most definitely, calling you a fucken clown.

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