The Guardian, age 203, a liberal newspaper, meets Guardian rusted-on reader, 61, an early retired English teacher.
What were you hoping for?
Guardian rusted-on reader: An exciting forthright conversation with the best minds of my generation about the myriad of challenges we face as all humanity, searing discussions of the art and culture of our time, with acid analytical and satirical commentary on the politics of the day.
The Guardian: Someone willing to click an ad for a three week eco-hut vegan canoeing holiday on the basis of a single review by someone named Tristan or Sassafras.
First impressions?
Guardian rusted-on reader: An exciting forthright conversation with the best minds of my generation (this is from reading the tissue-paper airmail edition when I was 12).
The Guardian: Another early retired English teacher.
What did you talk about?
Guardian rusted-on reader: Gaza, deforestation in the Amazon basin, eye disease in sub-Saharan Africa, the oppression of the Roma in Hungary, growing up in Shepparton desperate to get out, wild times at Latrobe, a stint with the International Socialists, travelling in Asia in the ‘90s, making change from within steered by exciting forthright commentary by the best minds oh have I mentioned that?
The Guardian: Ultrasonic coffee is like drinking a music festival! My first time at a burlesque class Ben Allen’s recipe for grilled vegetables how we survived off slavery for the first 80 years Sarah Jessica Parker cements big hat moment the personal unhappiness of our young staff 10 wonderful agriturismos in Italy how we’re sorry about all the slavery quite a lot about the personal unhappiness of the young staff and the slavery again really sorry.
Any awkward moments?
Guardian rusted-on reader: When I asked whether Julian Assange was going to get a mention in any of those apologies.
The Guardian: When they asked whether Julian Assange was going to get a mention in any of those apologies.
Good table manners?
Guardian rusted-on reader: They ordered for us. How do you eat swan?
The Guardian: Apparently it’s okay to say “fish knife” in Shepparton.
Best thing about them?
Guardian rusted-on reader: Exciting forthright conversation with the yeah okay I can see why they yawned a little.
The Guardian: They would still pay their membership if the whole thing was 30,000 words about Brigid Delaney crying uncontrollably on a cheese-tasting holiday in Parmagia, and the editorial endorsed Hitler.
Would you introduce them to your friends?
Guardian rusted-on reader: It’s been 43 years since I spoke to anyone who does not have a Guardian membership.
The Guardian: We sold their data to a charity teaching life skills to rescued chinchillas, and Blackwater.
Describe them in a few words
Guardian rusted-on reader: Best. Forthright. Generation. Exciting mi- yes I can see why they yawned a lot.
The Guardian: AB, high 25-39 rep, reads a loooot of novels.
Did you go on anywhere?
The Guardian: Several big dirty martinis at the Groucho. Oh, with them? No.
Guardian rusted-on reader: Go to two things in one night, gosh imagine that.
And… did you kiss?
The Guardian: Have you noticed how this thing almost never works for the straights? Huh. It never works! They’re always so fucking sad. It’s always “the feeling didn’t happen”. My god if anything less were happening, we’d be in Australia! Not sure how many more we’ve got in us.
Guardian rusted-on reader: I pashed my lower arm later, to feel like we did.
If you could change one thing about the night, what would it be?
Guardian rusted-on reader: That it had started at three in the afternoon, so we could have eaten dinner at half-past four.
The Guardian: That they were someone willing to click an ad for a three week eco-hut vegan canoeing holiday on the basis of a single review by someone named Tristan or Sassafras.
Would you meet again?
Guardian rusted-on reader: You know, when I think about it, they were rude, arrogant, condescending, snooty, Oxbridge, lifestyle-obsessed, centrist ad hustlers. Yes, tomorrow, as soon as I switch on my phone.
The Guardian: Like we have a choice.
The Guardian and Guardian rusted-on reader went either to an overpriced boutique burger joint, a restaurant specialising in a cuisine fusion which does not work, or one of those places serving, inexplicably to me, only Greek desserts.
