A 72 year-old former lad has become increasingly concerned at the reluctance of young men to take more risks on a lads’ night out. Retired pub landlord Phillip Brown from Kent feels betrayed by ‘a generation of cowards’ who wish to be coddled by a few shots of Sambuca in a licensed bar. He blames the absence of scuffles with the police, the lack of street brawls, and the scarcity of vandalism against road signs and parked vehicles, on a ‘hopelessly feeble culture of non-violent video games and films’.

“This lot haven’t got a bloody clue,” asserted Phil, after turning down the volume of Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs. “In terms of handguns, they wouldn’t know a Glock 19 from a Colt 32 Automatic, and don’t get me started on lethal hand-to-hand combat. Their most dangerous night-time activity is the addition of chilli sauce to a doner kebab. Complete bunch of namby pambys. Forget shots of Tequila and all this childish prattle of ‘yeah, I’d definitely bang her’ - could any of these arseholes survive a bullet through the lung?”

Despite these grievances, the majority of retired lads continue to defend ‘ladhood’ as a vital part of our culture and an important bonding ritual for barely evolved apes in their 20s. Dark and dingy nightclubs that smell broadly of sweat and piss, they reason, are the perfect setting to drunkenly tell your best friends that you love them, prior to vomiting in the taxi ride home. It’s also crucial to know when to step down:

“There is nothing worse than an aged lad,” Phil remarked, after showing his granddaughter how to perform a guillotine choke. “Years back I remember I bought a 12 pack of Carling for my son and his mates, and asked them if they were doing Glasto this year. I called them ‘fellas’ and told them to check out a band called the Beatles. My son has never forgiven me.”