Yesterday I received the following comment in my timeline.
"Did you go to school in the Deep South? There are a lot of things we read, said and sang that we don't now because they offend. I wish you better times but think our paths separate here. All the best"
I was puzzled at first as I had traded a few lousy puns that day with this member so I checked back in my timeline to see what heinous crime I had committed. It turns out I had mentioned an old song we sang at junior school (sensitive souls can pass this paragraph now) as a reply to another members memories of old school songs. The song was called old zip coon. I mentioned that it was unlikely to be popular nowadays because of the title. There was my crime. The fact that the song is about a violinist and, as far as I'm concerned, nothing to do with race colour or creed, was lost on this poster. I am now, in her eyes anyway, a relic racist who has no part in the modern utopia these people have built over the last fifty years.Strangely enough, if I hear the word "Coon" I immediately think of the song, not the interpretation she does. Who has a corrupted connotation?
This person probably thinks that the word "gay" has always meant homosexual. To my generation it means happy and it was also a popular girls name until it was bastardised. Her reaction to my post, to me, highlighted how the thought police have infiltrated and control so much of media and popular opinion. All racists make the following statement. "I am not a racist but......". We all have our prejudices, as this woman so brilliantly exhibited to me yesterday. We simply choose different ways and means to release them. The thought of deciding how I judged a person, solely by the colour of their skin, is abhorrent to me. I chided myself on my first visit to Atlanta years ago. I went on a business trip and we were standing on a street corner, lost and wondering where the hell we were supposed to be going. Across the road was a huge black man, slightly scruffy. He was watching us. We tried to ignore him but he suddenly sprinted across the road and joined us. I readily admit I was wary, very wary. "Hi" he boomed. "You guys look lost" He spent the next five minutes explaining where we needed to be, where to catch the bus and where to avoid going. I was quite disgusted with myself for jumping to conclusions. I have never made the same mistake since.
The riots of the last week have totally thrown the liberal left, the luvvies and the P.C brigade. They have seen what years of appeasement, tolerance and making up excuses is doing to the country. For the first time they may have to confront the fact that there are elements of society who do not want to enter the mainstream at any level. Some criminals actually love and thrive on chaos. It is their lifeblood.
I worked for a short time at a law firm who specialised in legal aid cases in Salford. My eyes were well and truly opened. They defended families where grandfather abused daughter, son abused daughter, Grandfather abused granddaughter and actually saw no problem with it. It was their right. It was how they lived. Nothing would convince them otherwise. My wife then spent fifteen years working in the courts system. my eyes were again opened at the low life we routinely share the streets with. I now sound like a right wing, lock 'em up lunatic. This is because it is no longer acceptable to have right wing views without also being branded a racist.
Humour is a very personal thing. My family has a dark sense. At my eldest uncles funeral, as the coffin was lowered into the grave, my dad nudged his ailing older brother and whispered loudly "Is there any point in you leaving here". I know that some people will be disgusted at that. I lost a follower early on who found my jokes about death unacceptable. I find it sad that to be a successful comedian nowadays you need to be on the left. Right wing comedians don't exist. Kenny Everett would have a hard time nowadays because of his Tory sympathies. Jim Davidson was pilloried as a racist comedian. He was possibly a racist but comedian? I have had funnier illnesses.
I feel sorry for my critic. I hope she has a happy life with not too many disappointments along the way. I fear to do this though, she will have to keep her prejudices and blinkers firmly in place and ignore the realities of life in the 21 century.
Tuesday 16 August 2011
Saturday 13 August 2011
Adolescence
One of the most miserable times of your life is adolescence. I've been going through mine since 1966. There was no such thing as adolescence then, it hadn't been invented.
Despite having four sisters I was painfully shy around the beings with boobs. I would blush and become tongue tied if a girl so much as looked at me, not good when trying to form any sort of relationship. It didn't help going to an all male grammar school. I don't think the homosexuals even enjoyed it as that was also some years away from being invented. The reality for most of the teenagers in the U.K. was the same as mine. The swinging sixties only existed within a certain social class in London, and the home counties. It is fair to say that 1966 didn't arrive in Bingley until 1977. There was only one definite none virgin in our school of around 1100. He caused a huge scandal in 1969 by getting his girlfriend pregnant. I used to think a girl was naked if she took her hat off.
Having said that, it was the era of the mini and micro skirt. When you are young and brought up with them all around you, it somehow wasn't sexy. There were thighs and knickers on view everywhere but it somehow seemed normal. Even the Queen had her skirts above the knee (and a young prince Edward I'll wager). My Mum even wore shorter skirts for Gods sake.
In 1968 I got a summer job in a textile mill. They actually produced knitting wool. On our floor there were about 5 males and sixty females, the majority of which came from the local sink estate. They were known as ballers. I assumed it was for packing the wool but it was an unintended double entendre. I didn't know what a comfort zone was so fortunately I was too dumb to know I was out of it. I spent the first week blushing and stuttering. I had one piece of ammunition in my locker however. I had started to develop and express my sense of humour. To that point, no-one, not even me, knew I had one. I started with a worker whose feet smelt so bad the smell improved when he stood in dog shit on his way to work one day. He was a dirty bugger. He was strong too, twice my size but I marvelled at how he managed to put one foot in front of the other each day without falling over. Think "Lurch" from the Adams family. They stopped letting him have tea breaks as they had to retrain him after each one.
He used to steal things. Chocolate, sandwiches, drinks, anything you left on your space. He'd pick things up and take a bite out of them or have a swig. The saliva left behind glowed green and stuck like shit to a blanket. One day a consignment of wool arrived from Ireland and stuck to one of the boxes was a substantial quantity of rat shit (we deduced). Lurch rolled his own cigs. I took a half dozen turds and ground them into his tobacco tin. I waited. Not long as it turned out. A few minutes later he came back, opened his tin and rolled a fag. It took ages to light. It stank to high heaven. He smoked it. He never noticed. His own smell defeated it
Undaunted, the following week, I brought in a substantial quantity of very ripe pimento seeds. I cut a mars bar in two, sccoped some out, and joined the ends back before melting the chocolate over the crack with a lighter. I left it out. less than a minute later he passed, grabbed it, took a bite and threw it the rest back down. I waited for the fun to start. Nothing. Not a flicker. He swallowed it whole. I was gutted.
Next day he failed to turn up for work, and the next day. The following day, environmental health turned up. They closed the staff canteen.Lurch had shit his insides out for two days and could only remember eating from the staff canteen.
O.K. I digress from adolescence but it was all part of my education. I was there for six weeks and on the very last day I plucked up the courage to ask one of the girls out. She said yes. She was a classy piece. Her boyfriend was in prison for burglary, she wanted twins so she had one for each breast an her hair was so bleached, crows used to dive bomb her for nesting material. I met her off the bus. She wore a suede mini skirt and a blue PVC mac. White knee length pvc boots completed the ensemble. We went to the cinema and saw an atrocious Elvis film called "speedway". I never touched her. At the end she went for a drink with her mates and I went home. It was a lucky escape. Had she not felt sorry for me she could have eaten me alive.
I find it hard to believe that boys can be so naive now. They have so many advantages over my time. Sex education, school proms etc. I'm bored now but you get my drift.
Despite having four sisters I was painfully shy around the beings with boobs. I would blush and become tongue tied if a girl so much as looked at me, not good when trying to form any sort of relationship. It didn't help going to an all male grammar school. I don't think the homosexuals even enjoyed it as that was also some years away from being invented. The reality for most of the teenagers in the U.K. was the same as mine. The swinging sixties only existed within a certain social class in London, and the home counties. It is fair to say that 1966 didn't arrive in Bingley until 1977. There was only one definite none virgin in our school of around 1100. He caused a huge scandal in 1969 by getting his girlfriend pregnant. I used to think a girl was naked if she took her hat off.
Having said that, it was the era of the mini and micro skirt. When you are young and brought up with them all around you, it somehow wasn't sexy. There were thighs and knickers on view everywhere but it somehow seemed normal. Even the Queen had her skirts above the knee (and a young prince Edward I'll wager). My Mum even wore shorter skirts for Gods sake.
In 1968 I got a summer job in a textile mill. They actually produced knitting wool. On our floor there were about 5 males and sixty females, the majority of which came from the local sink estate. They were known as ballers. I assumed it was for packing the wool but it was an unintended double entendre. I didn't know what a comfort zone was so fortunately I was too dumb to know I was out of it. I spent the first week blushing and stuttering. I had one piece of ammunition in my locker however. I had started to develop and express my sense of humour. To that point, no-one, not even me, knew I had one. I started with a worker whose feet smelt so bad the smell improved when he stood in dog shit on his way to work one day. He was a dirty bugger. He was strong too, twice my size but I marvelled at how he managed to put one foot in front of the other each day without falling over. Think "Lurch" from the Adams family. They stopped letting him have tea breaks as they had to retrain him after each one.
He used to steal things. Chocolate, sandwiches, drinks, anything you left on your space. He'd pick things up and take a bite out of them or have a swig. The saliva left behind glowed green and stuck like shit to a blanket. One day a consignment of wool arrived from Ireland and stuck to one of the boxes was a substantial quantity of rat shit (we deduced). Lurch rolled his own cigs. I took a half dozen turds and ground them into his tobacco tin. I waited. Not long as it turned out. A few minutes later he came back, opened his tin and rolled a fag. It took ages to light. It stank to high heaven. He smoked it. He never noticed. His own smell defeated it
Undaunted, the following week, I brought in a substantial quantity of very ripe pimento seeds. I cut a mars bar in two, sccoped some out, and joined the ends back before melting the chocolate over the crack with a lighter. I left it out. less than a minute later he passed, grabbed it, took a bite and threw it the rest back down. I waited for the fun to start. Nothing. Not a flicker. He swallowed it whole. I was gutted.
Next day he failed to turn up for work, and the next day. The following day, environmental health turned up. They closed the staff canteen.Lurch had shit his insides out for two days and could only remember eating from the staff canteen.
O.K. I digress from adolescence but it was all part of my education. I was there for six weeks and on the very last day I plucked up the courage to ask one of the girls out. She said yes. She was a classy piece. Her boyfriend was in prison for burglary, she wanted twins so she had one for each breast an her hair was so bleached, crows used to dive bomb her for nesting material. I met her off the bus. She wore a suede mini skirt and a blue PVC mac. White knee length pvc boots completed the ensemble. We went to the cinema and saw an atrocious Elvis film called "speedway". I never touched her. At the end she went for a drink with her mates and I went home. It was a lucky escape. Had she not felt sorry for me she could have eaten me alive.
I find it hard to believe that boys can be so naive now. They have so many advantages over my time. Sex education, school proms etc. I'm bored now but you get my drift.
Tuesday 9 August 2011
Appeasement
In my oh so humble opinion we are now paying the price of 50 years of appeasement in government. Once the war years became a distant memory for the population the whole concept of "sticking together" lost reality. Successive governments served up policies designed to keep themselves in power rather than confronting post war issues that were multiplying as each decade went by. The rise of political correctness stopped free speech and marginalised the vast majority of the population enabling the extreme left and extreme right to hold ridiculous levels of power.
The blindfolded headlong rush to integrate into Europe speeded up the decline as powers once held as sacrosanct were handed over to faceless bureaucrats who were, in most senses of the word, none accountable. Employment law perfectly summarises this countries decline. In the forty plus years I have been at work the changes are unimaginable. No-one wants to go back to Victorian employment laws where workers lives were held with a certain level of contempt but we have now gone full circle the other way. I have started three businesses which have employed over 100 people over the years. Faced with starting out now, I would not even consider it. Employment law is a minefield, loaded against the employer. I would never now employ a woman who could get pregnant. I simply wouldn't be able to afford the benefits she would be entitled to should she become pregnant. Large corporations can afford these benefits but small firms cannot. Twitter followers have seen my sense of humour. I would have to curtail it completely as an employer to ensure I did not offend a sensitive employee with an off the cuff remark. I have friends and acquaintances who have fallen foul of these state sponsored "human rights" crimes and it is cheaper to pay up a vexatious claim than fight in court against a no win no fee opponent.
I import my products from Taiwan. I would love to buy from the UK but the quality and price is not available as manufacturing has been encouraged to decline. The red tape involved in manufacturing has to be seen to be believed and making them myself is simply not an option.
This is all relevant to the scenes in London. We are no longer a democracy. We are a society where the majority is silenced by legislation and the fringes of both sides rule as successive governments try to appease and show themselves as equitable. Labour, conservative, liberal, there is no real difference. I am afraid the UK is in a downward spiral it will never recover from. I am only pleased I will not be here to see its demise and I fervently hope my Grandchildren take my advice and seek pastures new.
The blindfolded headlong rush to integrate into Europe speeded up the decline as powers once held as sacrosanct were handed over to faceless bureaucrats who were, in most senses of the word, none accountable. Employment law perfectly summarises this countries decline. In the forty plus years I have been at work the changes are unimaginable. No-one wants to go back to Victorian employment laws where workers lives were held with a certain level of contempt but we have now gone full circle the other way. I have started three businesses which have employed over 100 people over the years. Faced with starting out now, I would not even consider it. Employment law is a minefield, loaded against the employer. I would never now employ a woman who could get pregnant. I simply wouldn't be able to afford the benefits she would be entitled to should she become pregnant. Large corporations can afford these benefits but small firms cannot. Twitter followers have seen my sense of humour. I would have to curtail it completely as an employer to ensure I did not offend a sensitive employee with an off the cuff remark. I have friends and acquaintances who have fallen foul of these state sponsored "human rights" crimes and it is cheaper to pay up a vexatious claim than fight in court against a no win no fee opponent.
I import my products from Taiwan. I would love to buy from the UK but the quality and price is not available as manufacturing has been encouraged to decline. The red tape involved in manufacturing has to be seen to be believed and making them myself is simply not an option.
This is all relevant to the scenes in London. We are no longer a democracy. We are a society where the majority is silenced by legislation and the fringes of both sides rule as successive governments try to appease and show themselves as equitable. Labour, conservative, liberal, there is no real difference. I am afraid the UK is in a downward spiral it will never recover from. I am only pleased I will not be here to see its demise and I fervently hope my Grandchildren take my advice and seek pastures new.
Saturday 6 August 2011
Hi Twitter peeps.
This is my first time on the computer since my op and I thought I'd compile a diary of the weeks events. I'll be back on to annoy followers in the next couple of days.
Thursday 28th
As the day progressed anxiety began to grow. In the evening I decided to deflect the prospect of the following day by watching a film on Sky. An hour into it, Janet popped her head around the door. “What the hell are you watching that for?” she exclaimed. O.K. Perhaps Schindlers List wasn't the cheeriest of films to watch but, well.
Friday and Saturday
I slept fitfully and was early for my appointment at the Leeds General Infirmary. From 7.15a.m. I was subjected to the usual barrage of pre op tests and finally walked down to the theatre at 8.45a.m.
I had the usual gowns, one with my arse sticking out of the back and another to cover it. Next time I was really conscious I was back in bed, somewhat doped, with drips attached to various pre-drilled holes in my arms. The consultant arrived some time later to advise me the op had been text book other than taking an extra 25 minutes to drill through my old appendix scar. All told the op took 3 hours 55 minutes. The rest of the day and night were spent in and out of sleep. They brought me a sandwich which I think was previously used as a door wedge. It remained uneaten and the tea undrunk as I don't go for the Castrol GTX stuff. One disappointment. There were no pretty nurses, they were all men so I was happy a bed bath wouldn't be needed.
Consultant came back at 8.30am and, despite having a temperature, (me, not him) he told me I could go home that afternoon. Joy! All the drips were removed except the drain. They wanted to leave that in a little longer. They called it a drain, I'd say it was a sewer. The bloody thing went from just next to my belly button to my side, about 12 inches. It was fun having it pulled out. Blood spurted. All normal I was told, and a pad was put over it. Janet came to visit at 2.00 and was as surprised as she was delighted to be told I could go. The nurse checked the drain hole. It could have done with a man hole cover on it. He cleaned it and put on a bigger pad. “It should be fine” he said. I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. I won't comment on the journey. I'll just say it was “difficult”. We are about 20 miles from the hospital but it seemed like 200. I knew there was a problem when I got into the house and turned round to see the dog licking up blood. My trousers were saturated and it was dripping onto the floor.
I got to bed and Jan rand the hospital for advice. “Bring him back” they said. I'm not exactly sure what my reply was but it contained the words “fuck and “off”. This is where our NHS is brilliant. Within and hour a district nurse was at the house, cleaning the hole and putting so much padding on I like like a hunch side. We were relieved. I felt like shit (by coincidence I felt like having one too) but I was home and there was no further talk of going back in. The rest of the day passed, somehow. As the blood seeped through the dressings, Jan put on new ones to soak it. We need a new mattress now. This one looks like a ritual sacrifice has taken place on it, that or an elephant foetus was aborted.
I got through the next day and Jan and I were walking on the decking at 3.15 in the morning on Sunday as I tried to make some part of my body feel human. Jan has watched the op on the Da Vinci site and she assures me there is no part of it where the patient is repeatedly beaten with a cricket bat. I shall have to ask the consultant.
I often wondered what it would be like to have a lunch box like Linford Christie. What I had in mind however was the size not the colour. It does look odd, a little like a dead conker. I hate being catheterised. Only a complete masochist would enjoy one. It is however privately amusing to sit and have a pee and continue conversation with friends at the same time. On Tuesday the district nurse changed the pads for a bag for me to bleed into. It was a Godsend as we could empty it with a tap and it didn't leak. It also had the benefit of providing a good quality boost for Sundays gravy. Wednesday morning the bleeding stopped. Another tick.
Yesterday I had the catheter out. I pissed everywhere. The nurse was pleased as she wanted to see a flow as opposed to me going into retention. I doubt I have peed myself laying on my back since was 18 months old, not even when drunk. It was a weird experience made stranger by then being given a huge pad to put on. I could have leaked from both ends and that bugger would have taken it. It got me home and I changed it for another. All I needed was a bottle with a teat on it and a baby grow and the whole George Dawes experience would ensue.
It is now Saturday 6th at 2.18pm and the catheter has been out for about 28 hours. I got through the night dry. I still leak about one in three times when I stand but this seems to be a good position to be in so early. I had my first proper dump too this morning to take away another weeks discomfort. Offered last Saturday the chance to feel how I do now, I would have bitten their hands off. That must be a good sign. Writing this is a good sign as I certainly couldn't have done it yesterday. I even thought of two poor one liners, so I must be feeling better:
I was trying to think what the the term is for 6 foot deep was but I couldn't fathom it out
and
I love my wife's right leg. I also love her left leg but since she had a hysterectomy I haven't been able choose between them.
You try and think of something funny with a spike up your bits!
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