All Hail the Return of Ronnie Pickering, the North’s Answer to Batman

NB: If you are somehow unaware of who or what Ronnie Pickering is – and who, truly, knows – this is a pretty decent primer.

There is something exquisite about people who start sentences with the simple exclamation: eh. It says everything, contains multitudes. This is something I learned growing up in the guttural north: that the word eh runs the gamut, from friendly to threatening, depending entirely on intonation and verbal punctuation. That eh can be a punch as much as a tickle. A question and a statement. Try it, escalating to the top:

"Eh: do you fancy a cup of tea?"
"Eh: me chips have gone cold."
"Eh: where've I left my glasses?"
"Eh: twat."
"Eh: come the fuck over here and fucking say that, twat."
"EH? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, EH?"
"EH? ME CHIPS HAVE GONE BASTARD COLD AND THIS TWAT'S SAYING I'M A CHUFFING TWAT"

All famous northern sayings, carved and engraved in the solid stones of famous old northern churches, buried with the famous old northern men. The north a friendly place, where you're always greeted with a cup of tea and a warm 'ey up'. A friendly place, where everyone has a knackered old greyhound and opinions about pies. A friendly place, where men have instant-onset rage heart attacks if you tell them you, by choice, eat vegetables.

And so we loop, as we always seem to do, inevitably round to Ronnie Pickering.

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In quiet moments, I placate the screaming in my head by imaging how Ronnie Pickering's mooted Celebrity Big Brother 2016 appearance might have gone. Ronnie Pickering, resplendent in own-brand leisurewear, sitting and farting into the same sofa cushion for four days straight. Ronnie Pickering having to be isolated in the Diary Room for half an hour after repeatedly calling Stephanie Davis a "tart slag". Ronnie Pickering and Daniella Westbrook staring into the same full-length mirror and both getting a bit confused about which one is which. Ronnie Pickering and Scotty T, both slightly too northern to understand one another, having a long lingua franca conversation about motorbikes. Ronnie Pickering asking David Gest how many fights he won to get his face like that. Ronnie Pickering's microphone having to be constantly on mute during the live bits in case there's another Ofcom complaint. Ronnie Pickering is first to be evicted from the Big Brother house. Ronnie, this is Davina: please do not swear. Ronnie Pickering going for Gemma Collins in a fight about whose turn it is to put the quiches in and getting knocked spark out.

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Ronnie Pickering, Ronnie Pickering, Ronnie Pickering. A man who got famous for starting a fight while sat comfortably in a Citroën Picasso. A man who is this generation's hardy pin-up for road rage. A man who became an overnight Chuck Norris-lite Facebook meme just for offering to knock a motorcyclist spark out. A man who really, really wants to be on Celebrity Big Brother this year. A man who is back, with another video, with his own artistic eh.

Here he is, leading with the line – immortal, now, the line, as so much of Ronnie Pickering's rage is – with the line, "Eh [EXPLETIVE DELETED], guess where you're going? Guess where you're going? You're going on YouTube." Perfect in both delivery and intent. Something between the gaps suggesting Ronnie Pickering doesn't quite know how uploading to YouTube works. That you can just cram a traffic warden into YouTube by punching him into a computer hard enough. That YouTube is a concept, not a platform. That YouTube is a people's court, not a meme factory. Here's Ronnie:

Ostensibly Ronnie Pickering is defending the above elderly couple from those bureaucratic dayglo bastards, the Hull City Council traffic wardens, with their clamps and their ticketing system. But with respect: they are parked on double yellows. And with respect: there is absolutely no intimation that the traffic warden is doing anything other than warning them not to park too long on double yellows, lest they incur a legitimate parking fine. And with respect: there is literally no reason to escalate a simple could-you-move-your-car-please conversation into Ronnie Pickering shouting "MUPPET" repeatedly and offering the traffic warden out for a fight. Selected transcription:

And so we dive to the deep, dark core of Ronnie Pickering: he wants another fight. This is what he lives for. When he was hanging one arm out of a Picasso and slowly glowing red, he didn't get to fight: like a thoroughbred colt revving in the starting blocks with nobody to open the cages so instead it dips its head into a large carrier bag full of Greggs and just goes crazy, Ronnie Pickering sat with his seatbelt on and furiously, loudly, didn't fight. That's the truth of it: that Pickering never got to fight in his infamous fight video. Maybe if he just – maybe if he just goes around and picks fights with innocent traffic wardens, maybe then he'll sate his bloodthirst? Maybe then he'll prove to the internet he can punch?

I am love with the image of Ronnie Pickering as a sort of Matalan top-and-trousers version of Batman, walking around with his Samsung in portrait video mode, hoping always for a ruck, Pickering starting on road workers and traffic wardens, Pickering complaining at Wetherspoons about his Curry Club poppadoms and queuing up in council offices to shout about bins, Ronnie on the hunt for blood now, in need of a fight, in need of closure, Ronnie needs this now, he has a reputation as a fighter that's gone now to the dust, that Citroën motorcycle blue-balling his own personal Bruce-Wayne's-parents-getting-murdered, the root of his rage and the slight he needs vengeance from, Ronnie Pickering scowling the streets of Hull for another set-to, anything, anyone, please, carry on, please, what are you going to do, please, swing for me, Ronnie Pickering, a walking heart attack in the futile search of secondary viral fame, please, have a fight with me or summat, Ronnie Pickering, please, I need this, hit me, hit me. Ronnie Pickering will never be happy until the internet sees him punch someone to death, Ronnie Pickering needs the blood against his knuckles and his hands in the cuffs, he needs this. And then, finally, he will achieve climax. Until then it's spending the afternoon shouting at traffic wardens then home for a cup of weak tea, and a good hard think about what he was. Ronnie Pickering.

@joelgolby

More stuff about Ronnie Pickering, road rage, and just fighting in general:

Unpackaging Ronnie Pickering, Everyone's Favourite Road Rage Dad

Dissecting That Road Rage Video Where the Driver Chases the Cyclist and Lands on His Face

The Mexican Town That Fist Fights to Summon Rain