in the film ‘The Wild One’, the character played by Marlon Brando is asked
what he’s rebelling against. His reply? “Whadda you got?”
Things I’m against? Here’s a selection.
Bad breath. Fascists. Cross-infection.
Warm fizzy lager. Cold public baths.
Slugs under bare feet. Complex maths.
Litter-strewn beaches at low tide.
Folk committing genocide.
Barbed wire. Bovril. Radio 1.
The space that’s left when someone’s gone.
Tuesday blues on Friday night.
Drunks out looking for a fight.
Mars bars that have been deep-fried.
Folk committing genocide.
Dental appointments. The Daily Heil.
TV hosts with a grifter’s smile.
Poorly functioning frontal lobes.
Racists. Rapists. Homophobes.
Acetone. Formaldehyde.
Folk committing genocide.
Chelsea fans and Chelsea tractors.
Right-wing-leaning failing actors.
Performative ignorance. Unwanted flags.
Golf bores in Porsches and Beemers and Jags.
Double denim, tie-dyed.
Folk committing genocide.
Chitterlings. Trotters. Kidneys. Tripe.
Squeezing a spot that isn’t quite ripe.
Budgie smugglers. Badger baiters.
Potholes deep as lunar craters.
A disappointing donkey ride.
Folk committing genocide.
Rush-hour traffic. Crowded trains.
Bricked-up windows. Backed-up drains.
Ardent royalists. Avon cosmetics.
Constipation. Wind. Emetics.
A mouldy loaf of Mother’s Pride.
And folk committing genocide.
Steve Pottinger. 21 September 2025
previously published in CultureMatters and Yorkshire Bylines