I was always a Simon Schama man myself. But the point David Starkey misses is not that white kids are speaking like black kids or vice versa. They're just doing what kids have done for decades and that is they talk in their own language so that adults can't get it. And you know what? We don't get it.
However, Starkey has succeeded in bringing out the inner racist in millions. You know the sort. They start a sentence with 'I'm not racist but...' and usually tell you that while they don't agree with everything he said 'Enoch had a point.' And just to rub it in, somewhere along the way they will add 'I feel like a foreigner in my own country.'
Well, the simple response to those three sentences are 'yes you are', 'no he didn't' and 'no you don't, not really.'
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Seeing newlyweds coming out of the church, I couldn't help wondering whether it is nicer to tell them that it's all downhill from here - or that it's all uphill from here.
Really...which one is more positive?
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Have you seen that advert with what are supposed to be two brothers with nothing in common, (he drinks latte and I drink a mean, skinny espresso) and, hilariously, it turns out they both drive a BMW? Oh, how I laughed at the irony.
Until I realised that they do, actually, have something very much in common. They're both clearly smug wankers.
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After the deaths of yet another three journalists of my era this week, I have made a pact with my old mate and Sun reporter Jamie Pyatt that whichever of us goes first, the other has to say lots of nice things about him whether they mean it or not. I am happy to come to a similar arrangement with any other journalist aged 45 and over, just in case.
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I'm sorry, I just don't see Bert and Ernie as gay. It's Sesame Street and some things really don't deserve to be sexualised. The same goes for trying to out Bill and Ben, Sooty and Sweep and Cuthbert and Dibble.
But there's a movement for Bert and Ernie to have a gay marriage, just to make some point or other.
They're not gay. They're just friends who sleep in the same room, in single beds (not even a double like Morecambe and Wise).
Anyway, they've missed a trick. The real ones they should be targeting are Statler and Waldorf. I mean, two old queens who go to the theatre all the time (how gay is that?), are bitingly catty and bitchy about all the acts and they only go with each other to the performances, never with a woman you notice.
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And so, first games of the Premiership season kick off and yet I felt a strange sense of dislocation as my team were unable to honour their fixture thanks to some rubble in Tottenham High Road.
So, as everyone trudged their way to their grounds and bought a £3.50 programme and pint of lager in a plastic cup for £4.00, I was stuck watching men watching football matches that we couldn't see, on Sky TV.
And as my team weren't involved, I couldn't be bothered getting worked up by Joey Barton or laughing at QPR or tuning in to Robbie Savage just to confirm that, even though I am getting middle aged and mild mannered, there are still some people whose head I'd be more than happy to see on a spike.
I should have been taking my seat next to binman Bill and Groundskeeper Willie and Angry Dad and his long suffering wife and son and the other array of oddballs at White Hart Lane.
Instead I was at Canary Wharf watching a free jazz festival (and still paying £4 for a pint of lager in a plastic cup, mind) but with the family.
And as my team does not have another home match kicking off at 3pm on a Saturday until the middle of December, I fear they may be seeing a bit more of me than they expected.
It's a funny old game...Solly
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