Introduction

'On every street in every city in this country there's a nobody who dreams of being a somebody…’
Taxi Driver

Average Joe At Large: An Introduction

The big idea of Average Joe At Large is comedy: an experiment to see what happens when somebody tries to comment on a realm above their station. Because, generally, there is great humour to be found in that. Cast back to Del Boy speaking French phrases, or Nellie Pledge (if you remember her), making her confident proclamations, without fear of contraception*. Great laughs.

What happens when somebody of my societal standing dares to absorb culture? Am I not supposed to be pouring a tin of Carlsberg into a plastic cup, whilst cheering on my football team (which is Tranmere Rovers, for anyone asking). Just as it was essential for the reader of A Christmas Carol to understand that Marley was dead, so the audience of Average Joe At Large needs to know - emphatically - that I am a bit thick. Of that, there can be no doubt whatsoever.

You can stop reading at this point if you want to - the premise of the blog has been established now. The rest of this post is my own personal polemic, which I include here with the hope that a bit of healthy voyeurism will keep my click-count up.

‘It’s false modesty,’ I hear you cry!

    Well, don’t take my word for it…

There’s an eleven plus exam paper (albeit 26 years old), and a high school education - one that Ofsted officially branded as 'inadequate' - that firmly stamps my place in British society.

And the plot thickened...

In my final year at university - and I was only there because I came through in the era of Tony Blair’s University drive - I did a mock psychometric test. Practice for any job applications that might require one. I had struggled with life at Uni, finding it hard to make friends, and with ever-slipping grades as the time went by. Then, just before I left, the result of the psychometric test came in: ‘Well Below Average’. Not just below average, but Well below average. A handy reminder that I’m one of the lesser-abled of any intellectual group. I can remember the sensation of tears forming behind my eyes as Patrick Greenoulgh (a twiggy-figured bald man, if memory serves) sat me down and talked me through it.

It was the same sensation I felt when I started work at my current company (which will remain nameless, obviously). I got given the flattering title of ‘assistant’, and my job was to wipe items with hydrogen peroxide on an 8 hour shift. God, I felt more alive behind the counter at Bargain Booze.

I was weighty throughout most of my time at high school, and I was the classic case of the one who got picked last for the football team. And football was a big thing at my school - because we boys were not being prepared for a life in academic circles. In adulthood, this concept carried over into the realm of finding a romantic partner. While all of my school friends went off with their partners and commitments, I was still on the field, looking in every direction, wondering where I could go.

According to Mr Google, an average 37 year old man in the UK stands 5ft 10" tall, earns £38,100, had children at 33, and will be getting married next year. Therefore, marketing myself as Average is being somewhat generous, as all the evidence points to my lying south of that baseline. Compared to that portrait of average I’m a bozo. A schmuck. I’m Travis Bickle, roaming the dregs of New York City on a late-night taxi shift. Frighteningly, I do (honestly) feel the odd flash of Travis in my own psyche.

The big difference, though - and this is where the story gets a bit more positive - is that mine is not going to be just a story of failure, but one of a dog-headed resilience. A refusal to go away, even when cultural and societal gatekeepers insist that they’ll have to ask me to leave.

A few years ago, I watched the 2006 film, Rocky Balboa. In it, Rocky gives his son some advice about life, and I think it may be the best piece of advice anybody has ever given anybody. I often refer back to it:

“Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place, and I don't care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done!”

― Sylvester Stallone, Rocky Balboa

*Nellie's type of linguistic blunder is called a malapropism. I know. I'm not that thick.