I hate people who remind me of myself.
I cut this out from a magazine years ago - it’s one of those ‘post secret’ cards and it’s been on the kitchen wall for years.
Don’t misunderstand me - I don’t hate myself. It’s just those people who remind me of myself.
So who are these people?
The ones who say ‘Actually I don’t watch much television’ as they queue at the Cornerhouse to see the Fassbinder retrospective in the original German. They have spikey hair and long droopy earrings - well actually I don’t wear earrings as my ears aren’t pierced but I would if they were.
Like me they wear subtle understated garments in muted shades of grey, beige and olive green. The Kaz in my head wears fuchsia pink, daffodil yellow and kingfisher blue.
And speaking of kingfishers, I hate most birders as well - the ones with the woolly hats who obviously think that a touch of mascara would scare the birds away. The ones who say shhhh in the hide like I do, then insist on telling you about the lesser spotted swamp warbler they saw at Wigan flashes last bank holiday..
Then there’s the people who can’t enjoy the St@lybridge Bank Holiday Fair. They lean on a wall looking repressed and cynical and don’t eat candy floss or try to win a goldfish in a plastic bag - I thought that was banned now anyway. And they won't be going home to vote for the finalists in Britain’s Got Talent.