Today’s rant is about children. Now previously, gentle readers, you may have noticed that about the only children I like are my friend Jo’s children as she rules them with a rod of steel. They are well mannered polite and innocuous. However, having spent a significant portion of my life travelling on public transport and being at the mercy of other peoples’ children, I feel I am due a rant on the appalling way in which most peoples’ children behave.

I have come to a conclusion as to why I don’t like them. It's because I am not free to chastise them verbally or physically when they are in my space. Generally, I do not want these human snotters within 100 yards of my person. The vast majority of the time they irritate me so hugely I want to break things but being a British person I settle for fuming quietly to myself. Well no longer. Forthwith I shall vent spleen and vitriol on the horror of other peoples’ children.

I recently had the misfortune to pass into a bakery near a school just as the penitentiary was emptying out for the day. As the children spewed forth, I watched with barely disguised scorn, disgust and horror. Well they were dishevelled, dirty, without any conspicuous uniform and without exception wore some sort of sports shoe that had not been cleaned since purchased. They were fat, spotty, ugly, they spat on the pavement, littered and most obxiously, were there. There right in front of me. Disgraceful. They should be culled, they are not of any known use. The unkempt appearance and cheap nylon I could almost forgive but the diabolical language with which they use to communicate utterly confounded me. And I’m a speech and language therapist!!! It seemed to me to be a combination of grunts, squeaks, screeches, cackles, glottal stops and nasalised whines. Bugger me if I could discern one word that sounded even remotely English. Abandon hope all ye who must deal with these deadweights. I just don’t hate myself enough.

As I come of age where I can talk to children as a superior (i.e. an adult) in a formal situation, I come to find I despise their behaviour even more. I hate it when parents tell their children my first name and these little chits have the temerity to address me with such. I do not want such informality

Even today I dislike addressing people older than myself in a formal situation, by their first name. I had it drummed into me as a child “you never addressed a grown up until the grown up addressed you”. AT 26, I still address my fathers’ sister as Auntie. Not only that, you stayed silent till you were spoken to. If offered anything you politely refused even if you would have loved one.
The penalty was painful and lasting. As a child I would never have DREAMED of talking back to my parents. I think it was respect as they worked hard to keep food on the table.
No benefit then to fall back on. Rose tinted glasses if you like. But I hope, should the misfortune befall me and I sprog, I would like to think I would drum the same sense of respect into my children.

I also get angry when some brat behaves badly in public and the parents, instead of doling out a thrashing, seek to appease with some bribe or other. You are turning out a generation of children who believe that if they create a scene and howl in a tantrum, they will be rewarded. Why am I the only one to see this connection?

Nothing good ever came by treating children as if they were individuals that had opinions that mattered. They should be seen and not heard.

So, how to deal with the horrific little scrotes? My personal choice would be to re-introduce kids down mines and up chimneys.

But no, we couldn’t have that, they wouldn't have enough time to mug pensioners, snort coke, piss in the streets, get drunk and otherwise enjoy themselves, the poor dears.

Wishy washy talk about kids not being put firmly in their place has led to the present sorry state of affairs where the little buggers do not respect grown ups at all. The bollocks about them losing self esteem if they are told to keep quiet and only speak when they are spoken to is laughable. I have grown up with (for the most part) excellent manners and although some of you may comment I may well have self esteem issues, I do not put these down in any part to a well warranted comment by my parents imploring me to “Pack it in or woe betide you when your father gets home.” This is also funny cause we invariably new that when papa did indeed bounce cheerily through the door of his castle and into the warm and loving embrace of his family, whatever wrongdoing had been committed had well and truly been forgotten, the memory impatiently tossed aside under the relentless barrage of other “more important things” that mum had to deal with daily. However, I digress. Point is, the threat was enough to make us cower, lips a quivering in fear until father came home.

But the little buggers know that an adult can no longer box their ears without ending up on a charge of assault. They know that when their parents are informed of their mis deeds that the parents will more than likely assault the complainant.

A lack of discipline is what has brought this once proud country to the sorry state it is in today with vandals and muggers running riot. But ye gods I’m sounding like my gramps!

What also pees me off about other peoples kids is that we are expected to goo over them as their pointless parents do.

I was recently handed a friend's new baby and promptly handed it back. WTF did they expect me to do with it? It stank and was gobbing flem all over my faux cashmere jumper. I watched in horror as its fat little paw reached out for my gypsy chic dangly earrings and thought “I don’t think so pal”. NO! You had the spaz, you hold it.

"Different when you have your own" is another piece of cack from those who think we are odd in not having them and think we want them. Well let me tell you this for nothing. My overies are well and truly under chemical incarceration. Granted there are periods of “day release” where they get all jumpy and excited at the thought of being fertilised by Oooo George Clooney maybe, however the sad truth is for the vast majority of the time, the genepool is safe from dilution by my personal brand of genetic mutations! Anyway babies and manicures don’t mix.

I have little choice but to do my shopping during the part of the day where schools have emptied out and the shops are full of snotty public school kids and their marbalised accents. I hate the way people let their brats run around the place as though it's a school yard. Same goes for B&Q. I will do my best to ensure they run into my trolley/basket head on. Vermin!! Just like their parents and this is not a chav thing. It covers all from Chardonnay to Tarquin.

"Small person on board" stickers just make me want to car-nap the nearest 4x4 and plough it into them. So you got up the duff by screwing some lorry driver on the M1 services. Am I expected to respect this?

And as for pubs with a "play area"… I will avoid these like the plague unless there is a rope cleverly hand crafted in the form of a noose with a dodgy chair underneath. Do these oiks not realise some come to the pub to get away from this?

Then there are parents who complain in pub beer gardens if you light a ciggy near them and their bastard offspring. FO and take them to McDeathburgers and not to a pub you idiots.

There is nothing more boring than other people's kids. I have had massive rucks with people when I say things like "all under 25s should be banned from business class on aircraft." Why should my quality alcohol experience be ruined by yowling anklebiters? I wonder if I could raise funds for a child free, chav free airline?

And while I am at it I am really peed off by people who do not realise that their kids travelling on trains on half fare or free are not entitled to a seat (unless reserved on intercities) if there are full fare passengers standing. Take you bleeding brats on to your knees.

Oh yeah and those stupid double and triple buggies. Hate them too