Before you all go thinking The Guardian is the last bastion of quality, think again.

Clearly something, or should I say someone, has slipped through the tightly guarded net so we can be treated to hot and cold running drivel.

This is Max. He’s 19-years old and he’s bagged himself a blog spot with The Guardian, so he can regale us all with tales of his gap year trip to India. Riveting, no?

Ooooh, and I forgot to mention. Max is a jumped up little prick of negligible talent, whose Daddy clearly flashed the cash at a commissioning editor, who should be strung up for allowing such crap writing to sully the good name of said paper.

Sweeping generalisations and startlingly antiquated views on snake-riddled continents abound, but my favourite bit is when he writes, ‘I’m doing India on my own.’ You’re ‘doing‘ India are you? ‘DOING‘ India?? Perhaps this means that in between rearranging the plums in his silver-lined gob, Max the teenage spunk bag will be taking deepest darkest India from behind when its not looking. Who knows?

I wouldn’t mind so much if he was doing something out of the ordinary, or was mesmerizing me with wit and humour beyond his years. But since he’s doing neither, I’m simply disgusted at The Guardian for peddling this dross.

I could go on with lambasting Max, but I needn’t. Lots of other people have done it for me in the comments section underneath his post. I’ve never seen such a well deserved drubbing.

He’ll be begging Daddy to disable the page before the week is out, mark my words.