Jack The Lad

Lads love beer, Lads love birds (women), but most of all Lads love lads. Now, I’m not saying we (yes, I am counting myself in this members only club of alpha-males) want to bum each other, but a group mentality is definitely the bedrock upon which the ‘laddish’ attitude is founded. The upshot of this is that you always have a group of mates whom you can wholly rely on, however, it also results in most issues being trivialised (sometimes frustratingly) into ‘cracking banter’, because “we don’t do any of that serious feelings or emotions stuff…we’re Lads!”

Take for instance, sex.  At best, two people who wish to express the intensity of their love, doing so in the most intimate way they can. At worst, it could merely result in the provision of an amusing story the next day. The lads congregate, drinking pints of water and tea in an attempt to nurse a hangover, whilst merrily reminiscing about the night just gone to a soundtrack of 90s ‘club bangers’ and intermittent Spotify ads. In this instance, last night’s ‘romantic’ endeavours are in aid of reputation and plaudits from the rest of the horde.

Even after an unsuccessful ‘night on the tiles’, and in a bid to uphold one’s Laddishness, shouting “Darlin’…Noiiice!” at any female straggler, stumbling home from an ARU night is also sufficient. However, in reality, the only ‘noiiice’ things this ‘Lonely Lad’ has to look forward to are a kebab and a blurry eyed wank. Nevertheless, the result of this petty attempt to salvage the remnants of his night is a tale of harassment and chauvinism. Job done, cue “Wheys!” and pats on the back the next morning.
 

Now ladies, please don’t over-analyse this and create the mental image of Neanderthals in society ties. Before you shriek with horror at such a picture, we are not simply sexist arseholes who constantly have a finger or two shoved up said nether region (apart from a few). Need I remind you of your tuneful mantra: “girls just wanna have fun!” – well  for Lads it’s quite the same, the only difference being that our mantra is a monotonous, shouty, one-word, self-referential tricolon: “LADS, LADS, LADS!”

 The reality is that many of us are nicely brought up boys from middle-class families, hardworking and genuinely approachable (or something non-threatening along those lines). It is just the case that when we gravitate towards each other we feel the need to re-enact some Guy Ritchie movie, starring Danny Dyer, Michael Caine, Vinnie Jones and other well known generic ‘wide-boys’. They shag lots of birds…but then again they shoot lots of people. That’s beside the point; the ‘Lad’ has replaced the ‘Gent’.
 

At a deeper, psychological level, it may be argued that such behaviour is an ironic rebellion against the very real possibility of owning a wardrobe full of suits and a shooting stick in the near future. However, despite viewing ‘Laddish’ behaviour as mere pretence, it is an escape from the Cantabrigian model of manhood, that’s why it’s so much fun. Who wants to read GQ when, for now, we can read Nuts? Who wants to woo the ladies when we can ‘schweff on birds’? Who wants to be a Gentleman when, for these final years, we can be LADS?