Bitch on the Blog

August 28, 2017

Nuance

Sweethearts, dearest Sweethearts. I am in danger. Of losing the plot. Let’s rephrase that: I am in danger of writing a plot no one will be able to follow.

Never mind. It’ll keep for another nightmare.

In the meantime I wrote earlier today, in answer to and occasion of an article claiming that queuing (in England) isn’t what it used to be. Thank the Lord.

“I am not British though have lived most my adult life in England.

As a nation, you take queuing too far and thus engender true unpleasantness. One of many occasions sticking out when I wasn’t even sure whether I wanted to buy fish. To be inspired I peered over the shoulders of many a person in the queue at the fish counter only to be met with a sharp, and hostile, pointer towards “the end of the queue”. Come again? What’s with being so anxious to lose “your” place? All I was doing was looking, not endangering your place in the hierarchy. As if one would.

For all their reputation of being relaxed and polite – the English most certainly are not the former, and not always the latter.”

So far none of the other commentators has told me to go home. What Brexiteers miss is that England IS my home. Well, I suppose depends how you define home. Home for me could be a hovel, a castle, the gutter in any old place (Mars, Siberia, Outer Mongolia), any country. Doesn’t matter. Home is where I am. All I need is a roof, a candle and a matchstick. No, not to burn the place down. To see where I am and what I am doing.

Yes, queues, I am all for organized chaos. Take the motherland. Go to the butchers, preferably when everyone else is going (say eleven in the morning, Blutwurst and all), go to the bakers (say between half past seven and eight in the morning when everyone wants fresh rolls). No one “queues”. Everyone knows when it’s their turn. Fine difference, don’t you think?

U

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June 22, 2016

My heart is aflutter

What a perverse world we live in.

Sweethearts, I do have butterflies in my stomach. I won’t think about it till the morning after the day before (make that Friday) but holy cow. Normally I don’t raise political issues in blogland and I am not doing so this minute but …

The sequence of events being that until a few weeks ago I paid sod all attention to the EU referendum. Sure, since I read the world’s press for both professional reasons and my private amusement I’d skim the headlines on the subject. Didn’t take any of it seriously. Of course, Britain would stay in. Why was this referendum called in the first place?

Till, one day, not so long ago I spoke to an Englishman. Him of the velvet, oh so soothing voice. Yes, Magpie, you. Oh my god. To understand – Magpie is measured. And told me in no uncertain terms that whatever the merits of staying in Europe that cat was by no means in the bag. Though I did vaguely poo poo his notion our conversation was enough to unsettle me slightly. Since when I bloody read anything coming my way on this whole disaster. It’s like scratching a scab on your knee after your ten year old self has fallen off the bike. Fascinating, yet totally self defeating. My gall bladder’s bile rising, my stomach feeling vaguely and permanently nauseous, my colon trying its best not to anchor me to the toilet, my brain calling for reason and calm.

Let’s leave aside that I don’t hold a British passport. So even after over thirty years living in this country I have no say. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the future. And that is – and here we are getting back to my first statement, namely, “perverse” – that the very group this will affect most, namely the under twenty five year olds are so dastardly lazy. They don’t give a shit about their own future and – guess what – a lot of them (though not all) will NOT vote. How did one of them say to me the other day: “I don’t give a toss one way or the other.” Pardon? One might, of course and at a push, argue NOT voting is part and parcel of democracy. However, my father instilled in me that NOT voting usually plays into the hands of those you want the least at the helm of your country.

And, if I believe everything I read – despite my best efforts not to, the loudest voting for EXIT are those who have had it all. Those past their sixties with mortgages paid off, sitting on a pile, pensions in place. What the hell do those of you in that position think you are doing for the future of your kids and their children, your grandchildren? To make a point? A cheap point at that, one which will cost future generations?

Why am I writing this now? The day before the day? Because I have just come across a “youngster” who at least will vote – if out. His brother (honestly the things people will freely tell me without much prompting) who is also voting OUT has put an obscene amount of money betting that Britain will stain IN. Perverse, or what?

Anyway, when he – not so tactfully – asked me how EXIT would affect me, foreigner after thirty years in this country, I told him truthfully: Ask me on Friday. I tend to cross bridges when I come to them. No point wasting energy on something that hasn’t happened yet. Try and tell that to my stomach.

At least the whole caboodle won’t affect the Angel. Whatever the outcome he holds the key (dual nationality) to what both Britain and Europe have to offer post referendum. And, yes, he will vote. And, to his credit, he sees both sides of the argument. However, in chime with the Libran he is you throw a pound on one side of the scales and a Euro on the other. And then see how it balances out.

You know what the biggest shame in all this is? Elements of Britain (obviously not all of the British but sometimes you do take a nation as a whole) have shown themselves from a truly ugly side. Namely immigration, immigration, immigration. It’s always the same. Look through history. You latch onto a minority group and blame them for the shortcomings of your own government’s policies. Yes, I know I am simplifying but that is precisely what the lowest common denominator of this country is doing: Throwing a whole populace to the dogs over some Angst over Polish people wiping old British bottoms in British care homes.

I do believe in damage limitation. However, Britain in the eyes of some of the world have done themselves huge damage. Regardless of how the referendum pans out. Empire – my foot!

So disappointed,

U

 

 

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