Censorship

I don’t like people who show no grace in their communication with others, no willingness to enter any attempt at trying to reconcile differences. Those who will ignore an outstretched hand, erase someone’s comment instead of letting it stand, for all the world to see. Two commenters, unaware of their sins, so bad that they had to be shown the blogger’s door.

Nick, if you had any decency at all, any tact, any grace, you’d also delete your disparaging assessment aimed at Hippo aka Tom and myself. Wipe the slate clean as it were. Tidy that particular post’s comment box instead of leaving smears.

You deleted Tom’s apology when first you took us to task. Any attempt of mine to explain you keep deleting. Is it really ok to NOT give someone, the accused, a chance to “clear” their name?  Oh the irony, considering your post’s original subject. Think about it, Nick. But then you don’t do irony well, do you? It’s lost on you. Which in itself doesn’t matter whatsoever. What matters is how you deal with that which is beyond or below you.

I respect that you are of a sensitive disposition. So sensitive that you have no scruples whatsoever to malign Hippo’s and my name on your blog. Without – and I am repeating myself here – giving either of us a chance. Well, Nick, if that is what communicating means to you please do count me out. Since Tom addressed me and I replied to him and neither of us felt there was anything “snide” in our exchange why were you unable to just accept that and let it stand? Or were we stealing the limelight? Some bloggers don’t care, some rather do and some encourage diversity in their comment boxes.

I value the opinions of people who comment on my blog. Not in a million years would I ever delete anything other than what compromises a third party’s right to privacy. I am not a bloody prison warden, a control freak.  Spoiler alert: And yes, this is a bit mean and below the belt, aimed at you, Nick, and others: The little Hitlers so empowered by their territory, namely their “blog”, in need of their ego to be fed. Well, you fed it. Now let the dog off the leash, and delete YOUR own continued comments in relation  to that storm in an Irish teacup.

As you delete so I will publish. I see that you have wiped out Hippo aka Tom completely; not one smidgen of the man left. I suppose better than a fist fight. You may get hurt. The first two rather funny exchanges between Tom and me, the ones which led to your peculiar reaction, I do have no record of. The rest I do.

I implicitly trust the judgment of all those who regularly comment on this blog. So, should any of you, my readers, take the time and an interest in that fruitless exchange, please do enlighten me, if and where I went wrong. I will take it to heart – AND, stand by to be amazed, Nick:  LEARN FROM IT. Rarely is there a need to chuck the baby out with the bathwater. Unless the water is on fire. As you know I don’t bullshit. Neither, and there may be a lesson in it for you, Nick, will any of my readers’ criticism of me and my conduct make any difference in how I much I appreciate them, any difference in my affection for them. None whatsoever. Quite the opposite. Give me a bit of honesty. Don’t shilly shally; say it how you see it: None of us are infallible. If friends can’t give us feedback who can? Forgive me for this “snide” remark (after all, mustn’t short change you by not matching your expectation of me): You may try and get that pea out from under your mattress. You will bruise less easily. Now, there, there, let’s kiss it all better.

When Tom apologized to you he corrected my choice of word ‘pathetic’ at your reaction, suggesting to me that “regrettable” might be more applicable. Initially I agreed with him. However, considering your conduct since, I quite happily stick with the original “pathetic”. Considering the Latin scholar you are shall we compare notes first? Let’s see: ‘pathetic’ adj. arousing pity. Origin; Greek pathetikos ‘sensitive’. What did I say, Nick? Sensitive. Try and thicken your cutis (Latin ‘skin’).

Hugs and kisses, here goes:

Nick, the gentleman he is, first:

Hippo and Ursula, I have deleted your latest comments. Yes, it’s my blog and I can do what I like with it. If  you want to have a snide private conversation, go and have it somewhere else.

Hippo Tom’s Reply:

Sorry Nick, I do not know who Ursula is but I did find her witty, rather than snide (I certainly took no offence and hope she didn’t either) but I did realise that your post was of a very serious nature which was why I suggested that Ursula and I should take it over to my blog.

Once again, my aplogies.

Ursula’s pound’s worth:

Good on you, Hippo, that you are so forgiving. I am not. I think it’s pathetic, Nick, that you took down two perfectly good, well intenioned, comments. No doubt, you’ll take this down too. Your loss.

Or maybe, you’ll think again, and do a U turn. Aren’t an awful lot of blogs currently carrying the banner “No censorship”? Well, you could have fooled me.

U

Nick in his tireless attempt to stamp out the undesirable:

I have deleted another three comments from Hippo and Ursula. None of them had anything to do with the subject of the post.

Other bona fide commenters are welcome as usual.

Ursula, now wishing she had more than one head to scratch:

Nick, I don’t understand.

You’ve always struck me as a reasonable guy. I therefore hope that you will allow me to put the record straight. If only to be fair to Tom aka Hippo and myself, and not tarnish Tom’s reputation. Let’s remember that he even apologized to you. Though what for he clearly was baffled about. As am I.

Let’s remind ourselves that Tom took the time to address my being “indignant” at being passed over with my very first, and valid, comment. I thought his reply to me funny, original. I took his, as perceived by me, friendly bait by replying in a similar, slightly mocking style.I knew I’d hit it off with this newcomer to your blog, and new to me. And he took it in the same spirit as he had delivered to me. Which is great. More the pity that you didn’t. For which I still don’t apologize but join Tom in his rather better choice of word than my own, namely that the outcome is “regrettable”. Indeed.

Some of the best solid blogging friendships are forged in comment boxes. And some of the best blogs I visit (I visit few) are those who, generously, allow a natural flow of conversation rather than just appreciative small talk.

One last point, Nick: Do you actually know what you are saying with your “Other bona fide commenters are welcome as usual”?

“Bona fide” means “genuine, real”, Latin “with good faith”. Are you implying that not only are we not welcome anymore but suggesting that we didn’t come to your blog genuine, real and in good faith? If so, it’s an insult. See how easy it is to offend, Nick? Oh, the irony of it.

U

PS Let’s just blame John Gray. He started it. With his, and what I thought a deliciously smart, comment.

Nick who hereby confirms what I have suspected for a while, best glossed over:

Ursula – Your insult to me (in yet another comment) I shall ignore – of course I know what bona fide means, I have an O Level in Latin. Your insult to John Gray I shan’t ignore. He started nothing, he simply made a slightly cryptic comment that you chose to interpret in a bizarre way he never intended.

At this point I wished I’d THREE heads to scratch:

Nick, please do give me a break.

What insult to you, to John Gray? My PS was meant funny, trying to defuse whatever tension has crept into our exchange

There was little bizarre in my interpretation of John Gray’s comment. And even if: One of my two offerings was spot on, confirmed by him. The other was a sincere heartfelt of what I would have done in that woman’s situation. There is suffering that is tempting to cut short. What use is it to her to being vindicated after 25 years of heartache of having not just lost one son but the rest of friends and family too? As an aside: Some family.

I suppose it’s best if we just leave it. You do not appear to be willing to see my side, you will not even afford me the courtesy to let your other readers see my response. You will not concede anything. I have said it twice before and I say it again: I thought John Gray’s comment extremely astute. It was original, which no doubt led to some of you being confused by it.

If you find my comment bizarre then there is clearly a wavelength on which we can’t communicate. Neither did I find any of what Tom said to me to be a snide remark. And vice versa.

At risk of you finding fault with me once more: What’s your having attained an O’level in Latin got to do with understanding an expression? If this is about “mine is bigger than yours” I am sorry to say that I studied Latin to a higher grade and with distinction. I even studied Classic Greek. I communicate in a tongue which is not my mother’s.  So what? Doesn’t make me superior to anyone, neither does it mean that, unlike you, I will not admit to misinterpreting or using expressions sometimes rather too loosely. What I find so astonishing that I indicate, indeed ask you, what the meaning of your bona fide comment was. You do not enlighten. You just ignore that which doesn’t suit. But then you are the blog’s “owner”.

U

PS Just caught up with your last comment. You say you are “distressed”. There is no reason. Blogs are not one-way-streets. They are about communication. And sometimes communication will go wrong. Misunderstandings, misinterpretation. It’s life, Nick, not the end of the world. So let’s pick up pieces.

U

Guess what, dear Readers, yup, you got it in one.

The original post: http://nickhereandnow.blogspot.com/2012/01/under-cloud.html , undone at the seams by its master, hence many a hole. Last comment check: 1611 GMT.

U

PS Those of you who read this may ask: What’s the purpose of this exercise, Ursula? Other than wasting my, your, our time? Trust me: There is method. Let’s call Nick’s a case study, an example of some of that I think questionable in the world of blogging.

Let’s call it a strike against censorship, against unfairness. Let’s call it many things. And this minute I call: Roger Over and Out.

Desire and the pursuit of the whole

If I had to sell the number one benefit of getting older it would be: You don’t care any longer what anyone thinks about you. My son considers this a pity; however, as long as I wear my leather jacket and my black and white gipsy skirt he  insists on taking me to some club somewhere in Southampton. Not that I can hear a word anyone is saying. A smile and a nod go a long way.

My parents too are less than convinced that this, my latest notion, is the way forward. Forward is not necessarily the direction best advised. You are more likely to bump into something by reversing. Sideways, like crabs, will also add to the sodding drama your life will be if only you’d let it. Most people – being control freaks – don’t let their life go up that Sisyphean slope. They nestle at the bottom of the mountain hoping that nothing – not even a tiny little rock – will dislodge itself and fall into their well maintained Schornstein. What’s Schornstein in English? Chimney. When did you last see a working chimney sweep? No wonder the world and its bride are falling apart. Should you get the chance please do watch “The Water Babies” (with the truly evil Alan Bates). The book is good; but for once the film is better. Sunday afternoon being the most suitable slot for such soppiness.

How did I get here? BHB sent me something about women. I couldn’t agree more apart from the whiskey – a bit of a lame end. Every man needs a woman. Particularly if he is gay. Someone to keep him on the strait and narrow.  A shoulder to soak. Tell that one of the more recent loves of my life. If he applied to be a loss leader he’d be in with a chance. Gays – by definition – have a narcisstic streak. They are good at keeping house and the kitchen clean and all that, and they smell good and are clean shaven; I dimly remember a black and white film in which a gay guy helps some hapless unmarried pregnant girl (back in the fifties) to keep her baby, but on the whole, and I have to include even my beloved Truman Capote and Tennessee Williams, many others, not least that so admired by me bastard Gore Vidal (Americans: No, not Vidal Gore), they do have capacity to get on your nerves – big time. Or they just won’t talk to you any more. First they make verbal love to you  then you utter the slightest  disapproving nothing and you are out on your ear. My very first gay friend (to my knowledge), with a sweet temper and an equilibrium unrivalled by any of his successors, was – performing to stereotype – a hairdresser. No joke. True. The guy was divine. Tall, blond and blue eyed, finely boned. He was gorgeousness personified, and a dress sense to match. Naturally, my then boyfriend who later became father of my son, had nothing but disdain for this creation out of God’s picture book. Oh, how I loved going out with him on a Saturday night. People would take us for a couple. So no one hit on me, though occasionally I had to let him trail off into the night. Once back home he’d knock at the one wall our flats were sharing. Peter, sweet Peter. Wonder what’s become of him. His main love interest at the time a policeman – bike, leather and all. Never be deceived by a macho exterior.

Well, wish I could tell you about the loss leader. Alas he is in the public eye – and whilst his vanity has let me down big time my upbringing has taught me the importance of being discreet. Hope he’ll remember that when he starts writing his memoirs.

High kinks,

U