but sometimes there's no avoiding them.
I think if I ever start a band (in my old age, when my hands seize up), this will be its name. Punk will be fully revived, we'll all be too old to care what the young ones think, and we'll be angry about being ditched in cavernous rest homes (recovering from the mighty wave of babyboomers). Any leftover babyboomers will be too deaf to hear my musical shrieks, and come to think of it, so will my child's generation. Ahh, you've got to plan ahead.
And no, I don't know which of my cats yakked on my favorite winter coat. Both of them look guilty. Constantly. Actually, it's probably Mr Pooter, because of the combination of guilt and smugness.