My original plan for this blog was to treat it like a chat with my barber and grin about the weather.

But just as I began swooning about the delights of being awoken by the sweet serenade of bird song, a smouldering smooch of sunshine and a welcoming warm hug from mother nature, I remembered something someone said to me last week.

“I like your writing mate, but sometimes you’re a bit too nice. You’ve got to be a bit more controversial.”

Now, the word ‘controversial’ makes me cringe. It sounds too try-hard. I feel people sometimes go out of their way to be ‘contro’ (yuck) in order to get noticed. Just look a television right now. We’ve got wannabe superstars shoving wine bottles in unsavoury places, desperate Z-listers suckling cows’ teats and just about everyone marrying Jordan in order to get famous.

To me, hearing someone being labelled ‘controversial’ is just as bad as being told: “my mate, yeah, you gotta meet him, he’s mental”. No he’s not. He’s single. And when he doesn’t have one hand strapped to the X-Box and t’other down below, he’s drinking cans of Fosters alone in his room watching a documentary about a man eating his own feet on Channel 4. Crying.

So being told to be controversial in this blog, I was a bit sceptical. I don’t quite know how to do it. Is there not a place in this world for someone to just natter about pretty things? No? Ok, well, I thought I’d talk about my one true passion and weekend hobby then: badger baiting.

I jest. But what I am going to share with you is equally despicable: old people. More specifically, old people who take one look at me and instantly think I’m going to mug them screaming “Bo Selecta” (or whatever jive talk the rambunctious yardies of today use) just because I have youth on my side, without even getting to know me.

Youngsters get awfully bad press these days. They’re all knife wielding, thick yobs apparently. But when they pass their exams with flying colours, “exams are too easy”. Get over it. Give them a pat on the back, that’s what they both need and want. I was given loads of encouragement and I certainly appreciated and benefited from it greatly.

However, there are definitely a large proportion of elders in this country who immediately look down their noses at teenagers. Of course I understand that some youngsters ARE knife wielding, thick yobs, but then so are some 30, 40, 50 and 60-year-olds. And I’m sure there’s even a couple of blood thirsty 70-year-olds knocking around too.

It must be horrible to struggle to walk down the street as an OAP, I get that. But in my experience as a person under 30, I’ve never really been given the chance to prove I have a kind nature. Just the other day, for example, (I know that sounds like a cliché, but it did occur just the other day) I was at the train station. An elderly chap hobbled up to me, looking at the ground and asked in a broken, quivering voice what platform the Portsmouth train was on.

I immediately stood bolt up right, adjusted my tie, and replied in the highest, most polite voice, “ooh, just down there and on your left, sir”. With that, he too stood up straight, looked me in the eye with quite a shocked face and replied: “Oh, how civilised of you young chap. I didn’t expect you to respond so nicely to me. Thank you very much.”

What?

What did he expect me to do? Shove him to the ground, jump on his back and shout “you’re the train to Portsmouth, now move!” Like I said, I understand that some folk have bad experiences with others, but you cannot go through life tarnishing everyone with the same brush. He actually changed his body position and was surprised that me, a young man wearing a hoody, with admittedly scruffy hair, just did the natural thing and answered his question in an appropriate manner. That's not fair.

It’s not a nice feeling walking down the street and feeling as though I have to convince others around me that I’m not a rapist or granny basher. I wouldn’t stare at someone over 60 and think, great, they’re about to urinate all over me and force feed me Oxtail soup and Werther’s Orginals. So why must they cast judgement?

I mean, isn't the adventure of life the fact we are all so different? By all means be cautious around people, but don’t encounter strangers and immediately jump to conclusions about what they’ll be like.

I was always told don’t judge a book by it’s cover. And I’m sure every adult taught their children and grandchildren the same thing.

P.S. If that still wasn’t controversial enough, let’s just pretend I lied to that man about where to catch the Portsmouth train and I lured him to my basement where I’m currently dictating this blog, while he types furiously with his elbows as I whip him with liquorice laces. That better?

P.P.S. What lovely weather we’re having.