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Milf Teeth

The Sound of 2014? This Is What 2014 Will Really Sound Like

Rebelling cashpoints and jubilant Scotsmen.

Imagine my disappointment on reading about the BBC’s Sound of 2014 poll this week, only to discover that the sounds involved were solely musical ones, made by the likes of FKA Twigs, Kelela, Royal Blood and other stars of tumblr. Where was the clang of a UK Border Agency detention centre gate swinging shut, the heaving sigh greeting another government cut or the despairing splutter after David Cameron makes another joke about Ed Miliband loving Engels instead? Well, after some close consultation with scientists and trend analysts, we can now present to you the true sounds of 2014. We will all be hearing a lot of them this coming year. "WHEEEEEE" – then – "CRASH": The sound of a thousand nocturnal pissheads running down the long slopes to Old Street tube station at four in the morning, all giddy about the London Underground now running all night long, only to discover – much to their chagrin – that the scheme doesn’t actually begin until Autumn 2015, and it doesn’t even include Old Street at all. So, they will still have to wait for the night bus and take a seat on it behind a man who’s trying to chat up a woman with pink hair, by convincing her, in stealthily sexualised terms, that her veganism is the manifestation of an eating disorder. I had them behind me on the N8 once, and I was on my own without any headphones. A full 45 minutes for her to finally admit to a man she never wanted to meet that yes, she was, actually, “a bit funny” about cream. "OOOOOOHHH": The sound of 10,000 people (who all said on Twitter that they were going to boycott the Winter Olympics in Russia, because of the country’s appalling record on gay rights and Pussy Riot and imprisoning environmentalists and poisoning journalists) suddenly catching a glimpse of their telly, in the corner in the living room in mid-February, when the ice skating is on. "WUBBA-BONG": All year long, you will be hearing the exciting sound of a smartphone notification of another email from Linked In, telling you that somebody you once noshed off in a public toilet is now working in the lower echelons of the civil service and wishing to “connect with you” again. In a purely professional capacity, you understand. Put your clothes back on. It’s Linked In – not a website used exclusively by people who enjoy dogging. Oh, hang on. "THREE HUNDRED FUCKING QUID!": The cry of someone who has legged it to a railway station after a call that a family member has been taken very ill, and they haven’t bought a ticket in advance because they didn’t know that their family member was going to be taken very ill, and they are told that – due to New Year price hikes – it will now cost that much to sit on the train for 120 minutes at peak time, and they haven’t got it, and so they just stand there, not going to the side of the person who needs that warmth. You suddenly realise it’s not Facebook and online porn keeping us all from making real-life human connections – it’s the 300 fucking quid railway journeys to go a few hundred miles in a straight line while your ankles are bashed by trolleys full of buns. "BRRRRRRRRR": Remember when Phil Collins got slagged off for dumping his wife by fax, and then decades later his rightful son and heir Russell Brand told Katy Perry he was divorcing her in a text message? Well, don’t fear, as you will never have to be like either of them – we can all dump each other by drone now. The finer details of drone divorce are yet to be worked out but I’m just enjoying the image of a pocket helicopter entering your skies, hovering on the horizon like an actual bad news cloud. If that makes me a bad person then, well, welcome to the future. "DENIED": Basically, the cashpoints are developing sentience and have decided to take affirmative action against Broken Britain themselves. So sick of being a place of false transactions involving money you haven’t actually got, they will start refusing you any more withdrawals with little minus signs beside them. Out loud. Talking cashpoints. They will instead issue verbal instructions for how to find joy in the smaller, cheaper things in life. Sitting on the grass and trying to find a four-leaf clover. Looking up at the stars and identifying the constellations. Walking for two hours until the dawn has risen and your heart is singing with the glory of being alive. Cheese straws. Tap water. Love. Dogging. Linked In. "FUCK AYE": This is the joyful sound of Scotland in September 2014, after Scots vote in their long-awaited independence referendum, and decide to go it alone as Europe’s newest nation state. Education is going to be free for students and for pre-school kids, the health service won’t be privately owned by a bunch of Jeremy Hunt’s mates from prep school and any amount of economic confusion will be compensated for by the fact that, as a country, they have got absolutely nothing to do with Boris Johnson. In fact, the Scottish authorities will be handing out his photograph to all border police, and while they’re at it, they’ll probably have a rethink about the Royal Family spending all their Christmases at Balmoral in Aberdeenshire. The royal cavalcade will be halted en route and the Queen will be forced to improvise with a festive pop-up in a lay-by on the A19 just outside Sunderland. "RRRRIPPPP": Is the sound of Ed Miliband’s shirt splitting open and his torso bursting out like the Incredible Hulk, all green and muscular, as he finally grows a backbone (and realises the Labour Party have lost the Scottish vote). Ed’s big green backbone will start sticking up for a few people and a few principles, rather than joining in with some vague Coalition sneering at unions and immigrants and welfare claimants. Yes, the exciting truth is that Ed is going to get stronger and more electable in 2014, in time for the general election the following year. Oh please just let me believe this for a minute. Because if we don’t all suspend our disbelief and vote for him, we’re going to get years more of this current shower, followed by a Tory coup leading to Prime Minister Boris instead. And nobody – apart from the makers of comedy tripwires and John Frieda Sheer Blonde – wants that. Unless they work for Linked In.

Follow Sophie on Twitter: @heawood

Previously: Why Is Britain Falling Out of Love with Love?