Yesterday a video circulated of George Osborne on a visit to St Benedict’s Catholic Primary School in Garforth, West Yorkshire. He was there to watch a game of netball, eat some breakfast, and otherwise do that thing where politicians are filmed walking around a building while an overexcited employee points out all the new light fixtures. Of course he was also there to chat, to meet the “next generation” he loves going on about so much, and hopefully appear normal, warm and human. He didn’t of course, and the whole thing was as uncomfortable as telling a recent widowed pensioner you’ve just run over her dog.
Naturally, as these things do, it shot round the internet under the banner of how “awkward” and “cringeworthy” it was. Thing is, yes it’s very awkward, but there’s something else at play here. Watch the video, and instead of looking for awkwardness, look for something else. Something spangled. The frantic desire to say something to everyone, to form sentences without actually having anything to say, an ignored sweat collecting on his brow, wide pupils shooting around the circle of people. George Osborne talking to school children sounds like you trying to make conversation, pilled up, in the smoking area of a nightclub at 4AM.
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Yes, technically it is him making bad small-talk with a bunch of primary school-children, but look a little closer…
It all starts with the “Here we go, come on,” as George tries to involve himself with the game of netball that is happening around him. This is you on a pill, trying to edge your way into another social circle. You’ve lost your mates, and you’re eavesdropping wide-eyed, hoping to find an in.
This is it, you’ve made it into the group, you’ve lent somebody a lighter, and now it’s time to make some chat. They’re all big lads, so you decide to try and talk to them about sport. You’re buzzing, this is great, you’re going to be fine: “Do you do the football and the rugby, yeah?”
Your sporting knowledge is wearing thin, and you can’t hold onto a thought for longer than thirty seconds, so you literally start listing cereals.
Alarm bells, you’ve derailed, you’re wigging out, the rush is so intense, you can hear the conversation buzzing around you, the thud of the main room bangs softly in the distance. You stare in front of you…”is that fruit bowl moving? Are there loads of little insects in that fruit bowl?”
This is going west, you need to save it, you need to reignite the chat ASAP.
“I tell you what…wasn’t that one of the most exciting things?”
Smashed it.
This is all fun and games of course, until you realise this is a two-way exchange: you on a pill sounds exactly like George Osborne trying to make conversation.
Read more: Here’s every type of conversation you have when you’re fucked.
