He didn’t look proletarian. He was a smartly dressed young man, a student on the verge of his finals perhaps, sat on his own in Sinclair’s Oyster Bar (pictured here from the Wheel of Manchester). Obviously not at all impoverished, a large plate of steak and chips arrived to accompany his ale.
And this is where it all fell apart. The boy couldn’t use a knife and fork. He gripped the knife like he was going to stab someone in the stomach. The fork he held limply, as if it were a spoon. Then he proceeded to scrape and scratch at the meat. I don’t eat meat, but I was tempted to go over and cut his steak into itsy-bitsy pieces for him.
Anyway. The upshot is that I’m not at all surprised to read that twenty-somethings lack basic domestic skills. They blame their parents. And they’re right.