THE ALL BLACKS
A dear friend of mine once participated in a rugby tour of South Africa and recalled how on one occasion his team played against an opposition that was composed entirely of coloured men. “Were they the All Blacks?” I quipped. Well folks, at least I think it was funny. Actually, the purpose of this item is not to pay tribute to the fearsome also-rans of rugby union that hail from New Zealand, but to draw attention to the multitude of young women who frustratingly choose to adorn themselves in all black outfits.
From bitter personal experience, it seems that many women all too predictably opt to wear all black on a date. What’s that all about? I have been reliably informed by my dearest sibling that black is worn by females who are insecure about their figure. I recently dated a woman who wore a black top and black trousers, and lo and behold three weeks later I met another female who wore an uncannily similar drab-coloured outfit. Is it my imagination or does the same black clothes get circulated on demand from one woman to another? It’s hugely ironic that after years of complaining about school uniform, young adult females find themselves dressed in another uniform. In fact there is scarcely anything more uniform in the real sense of the word than scores of young women in black clothes. Sorry ladies, but black clothes are not gothic chic, or symbolic of cool and glamour. They are funeral wear and represent a lack of creative thinking or individuality. At best, black suits can be confined to dressing formally for the office or black dresses for a formal, but black tops and trousers are otherwise run-of-the-mill. Worse still, what greater indictment is there for the lack of fashion sense in modern young women than to find more men dressed in a variety of colours than women who all wear the same dreadful colour.
Call me old-fashioned but shouldn’t one expect women to wear brighter colour clothes than men? I want women to be women and look like women. All black outfits are either intended to mask a poor figure or are half-baked macho chic, as one might expect in a spaghetti western. I would like to see women wearing skirts and flip-flops in the summer and skirts with boots in colder weather. Women wearing black trousers is the equivalent of a man wearing a pink skirt. Let women be women and men remain as men, instead of the revisionist thinking that straddles the accepted norms of what constitutes fashion. Oh how sexist you are, I can hear the bra-burners scream. Well, when I see a woman dressed in the ritual black, I exclaim “Oh no, not again.” Sorry folks, but a lady in a black outfit is just Johnny Cash with tits.
THE FRUSTRATIONS OF FLIRTING WITH FLOOZY FEMME FATALES
I do so loathe the F-words. No not fornication, but in particular the words ‘fun’ and ‘friendship’. If you have been foolish enough like me to waste many hours trawling through internet dating, you will find many young women and men who seek ‘fun’. Well, ultimately we all want to have fun, and even the most boring people are capable of engaging in fun. However in the context of dating adverts, ‘fun’ is just a euphemism for another three-letter word. Yes folks, you’ve guessed it. Anyone seeking fun is merely desiring sex. I find this contemptible because a person requesting ‘fun’ is really stating that ‘I am not equipped to cope with the fluctuating fortunes of an adult relationship, but I am a cheap whore.’ Sorry ladies, but anyone looking for ‘fun’ might as well wear a tee-shirt with the words ‘I am an irresponsible slag’. Speaking of which, apparently the Islamic extremists choose to bomb night clubs because they are appalled at young female women degrading themselves by dancing around drunk and scantily clad like glorified prostitutes. Do you know what? The Islamic extremists have my sympathies.
Then there is an even more frightening F-word. It’s called ‘friendship’. For me, friendship with a female is just a relationship without the intimacy or a pretend relationship where I am subjected to my female friend pouring out her heart about her boyfriend troubles while I am confined to the role of a eunuch. I personally find a female’s request for a friendship to be deeply insulting. It is akin to declaring that ‘I like you, but in a non-sexual way, because I don’t find you physically attractive, although I would dearly like to use you as someone whom I can burden my problems on.’ Oh yes, I need that situation like I need a hole in the head. It is quite true that young women and men cannot be friends because one tends to desire the other. A friendship is just a virtual relationship which has ‘virtually’ no appeal to this friendless fool. I do actually subscribe to the lyrics of that personable John Lydon who once sang about friendship ‘rearing its ugly head’. As I said, I cannot stand the F-words, and perhaps the most frightening F-word of all is females!
HALF A PERSON
It was no accident that God gave Adam a female companion to assist him. Call me old-fashioned but I think that we all need a partner to support us through the struggles of life. In a relationship each partner has different qualities which can complement one another’s needs. It makes perfect sense. Against this background of widely-acknowledged common sense, you can imagine my own frustration at having to negotiate the pitfalls of life on my own. There have been many times when my flawed thinking would have benefited from the wisdom of a partner who could positively impact upon my decision-making. Instead of which, I find myself exasperated at my solo journey. Consider the following:
Have you ever watched the Grand National? It is a gruelling marathon, even for big powerful horses and accomplished jockeys who collectively are expected to overcome thirty obstacles in a four and a half mile race. By the second circuit, even with more than sixteen fences safely behind them, jockeys start to pull up their horses while as the race nears its conclusion, some animals simply refuse to jump another fence. Well folks, this big animal is in the same mode. I have leapt, with varying results, more than my share of obstacles, and now I am reaching the point where I will refuse the next jump. I guess it’s what one would call losing the will to live, and no amount of counselling, medication, therapy, or bible stories will persuade me otherwise, like some persistent jockey who knows that the winning post is merely a few fences away.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to live in a house with half of it missing, or to drive a car with half of it taken away? It would be miserable, not to mention impractical. In the continued absence of my other half, I remain half a person, to quote a Smiths’ track. When people see me or think of me, the expression must spring to their mind, ‘there but for the grace of God go I.’ God’s grace is a free gift. I look forward to the day when He bestows the blessing of a pretty woman on this half a person. Until such time, I remain hopelessly incomplete, and no happy ending is in sight.
OH LONESOME ME
I have to chuckle at those dreadful pop songs where the vocalist is pining about “I’m lonely without you, baby.” Do me a favour. Most people haven’t the first notion what loneliness really is. What is loneliness then? Loneliness is when your telephone doesn’t ring for about ten days. Loneliness is when the only person you speak to each day is the check-out assistant at the local supermarket. Loneliness is when you are alone with your thoughts 24/7 from Monday through Sunday, week after week, month by month, year in year out. Loneliness ultimately is when you could die and nobody would find your decaying body for more than a week. That’s loneliness.
It sounds truly terrible, but what exactly is the alternative? I don’t care much for Liverpool or Manchester United football supporters, nor followers of Glasgow Celtic, not even of Glasgow Rangers either. Ulster loyalists bore me and Irish republicans are equally tedious. Foul-mouthed men and women are tiresome. Big-headed, self-important types are a drag. Aficionados of violent action movies, of horrible pop music, reality tv watchers, not to mention trashy tabloid readers all fail to impress me. Self-righteous, holier-than-thou, disapproving ‘good living’ people are a turn-off too. Suddenly, perhaps the ghastly likelihood of lying, decomposing for more than 100 hours with flies buzzing around my corpse is quite appealing after all.
THE AFFLICTION OF FICTION
Why why why (and one more why) do people bury themselves in books about events that never happened, people who never lived, and places that don’t exist? Where is the modicum of sense in fiction when the rich tapestry of history has so much more to offer us concerning events that did happen, people who have lived, and places that do exist. Fiction should be confined to nine or ten-year-olds who are learning the art of essay writing. Adults should try living in the real world and stop trying to escape from both the glory and pain of past times. We shouldn’t dwell on the past, I hear you say. Fair enough, but we shouldn’t flee in the direction of never never land either. Besides, so many pieces of fiction are a fiction in themselves. How often does one find that a novel is based on the author’s personal experiences, with the character and place names merely altered? Well folks, such an exercise is not my idea of ‘creative writing’.
THE MYTH OF THE TITANIC
No I’m not about to suggest that ‘the unsinkable’ never sank at all, but here follows my humble attempt at what I would like to call historic revisionism. We have been frequently informed that the Titanic sank on its maiden voyage. Really? Where was it built? Let me remind you: Belfast. Where did the ship sail from en route to the United States? Let me remind you: Southampton. Unless the Titanic also made history by being the first ship to be transported by aeroplane, hovercraft, or hot air balloon, I would venture to suggest that its first voyage was indeed from Belfast to Southampton. Sorry to split hairs folks, but as anybody in the legal profession would confirm, it is absolutely crucial that we get our facts right, instead of perpetuating half-truths. Now who dares to sink this unsinkable argument?
REMEMBRANCE DAY
Throughout the United Kingdom and elsewhere in the world, people assemble at Cenotaphs to lay wreaths for the poor wretches who gave their young lives away so that our dearly beloved monarchy could continue to prosper – in all senses of the word. However, perhaps the real Remembrance Day isn’t November the eleventh. I would instead argue that either Good Friday or Easter Sunday ought to be regarded as Remembrance Day when the young Saviour of the World laid down His life so that we might have eternal life. Now that supreme, selfless sacrifice should be worthy of crowds gathering at Cenotaphs to lay wreaths in loving memory and respect for mankind’s greatest hero, who fought and won the greatest battle of all – over death. His resurrection proved this!
JEALOUSY
Whilst wee Northern Ireland’s football team were narrowly succumbing to another heroic defeat, this time in Spain, I and most folk from Norn Iron consoled ourselves with the fact that our dearly beloved neighbours in humble England had suffered a far greater humiliation at the hands of the ‘mighty’ Croatia. I’m certainly not anti-English, given that I am an armchair supporter of the cricket team and I even desired an England triumph in the rugby world cup final, if only because this was one tournament where the English emerged like a phoenix from the ashes to challenge for glory whereas normally they regard themselves as near-certainties before any sporting tournament even begins. I was after all born in England and I have lived a considerable chunk of my adult life in its green and pleasant land.
Most people from the Celtic nations nevertheless have distinct trouble warming to English sports stars when the ‘British’ Broadcasting Corporation, its radio stations, Sky Sports, and most irritatingly of all Blokesport, collectively prioritise coverage of English teams, relegating the seemingly less significant Celtic teams. This is painfully the case during the rugby union Six Nations, when one might be forgiven for thinking it’s a One Nation rugby tournament. Yes, over-exposure of England in the British sporting media only serves to antagonise the Celtic peoples, although one could counter that English success at the 1966 and 2003 football and rugby world cups has engendered a substantial amount of begrudging from the non-English members of the British Isles. However, putting the emotive issues of sport to one side, I have identified two groups of people who are particularly jealous of the English, for very different reasons.
Firstly, Irish republicans just loathe the English. They can dress their sectarian hatred in a multitude of ways, citing the predictable moan about centuries of English exploitation and oppression. There may be much historical evidence to validate this belief, but I would maintain that Irish republicans are jealous of the English. After all, while the English (and the rest of Britain) fought their way through the torment of the Second World War, the Irish republicans decided to sit out the conflict against fascist tyranny, probably hoping that the nation that contributed to the liberation of occupied Europe and the end of the Holocaust would actually be defeated. While England holds her head up at her resistance to the Nazis, the Oirish can hang their heads in shame. Similarly, while one finds many English soldiers contributing to the efforts of the United Nations peace-keeping forces, one will struggle to find a single citizen from Andersonstown or Ardoyne employed in such a role. Maybe that’s because Irish republicans don’t do peace-keeping.
The second group who are overcome with jealousy towards the English are Muslim immigrants. Of course many Muslim immigrants themselves become English, but frequently their loyalties are diverted towards Pakistan and the Islamic nations of the Middle East. A sizeable portion of British Muslims complain of an apparent police state in Britain, though few people (apart from Channel Four and Guardian readers) take their victim complex too seriously. The reality is that Muslim immigrants chose to come to England to avail themselves of what it has to offer, having fled from the brutal, unstable Islamic regimes that they continue to have an irrational sentimental attachment to. It must clearly rankle with British Muslims that Islamic countries have a shocking record on human rights and where personal advancement and prosperity is limited, while infidel Britain has (for all its flaws) an infinitely superior record on human rights, and a system of social security and meritocracy which collectively enables all newcomers the opportunities to cultivate a better existence for them and their families. If Islam is so truly wonderful, then why do Muslims have to migrate to ‘Christian’ (or secular) Britain?
Yes many Muslims are jealous of British democracy, and yet like the Irish republican hate mob, they detest the English so much that they come and live among them and claim state benefits!
LOYALIST BAND PARADE
The Shankill Young Pipe-Bombers Flute Band is holding its annual band parade this Friday night. Among the other bands expected to participate are the following:
The Tiger’s Bay Under-age Drinkers Flute Band
The Sandy Row White Trash Sons of Ulster
The Harryville Broad-Minded Sons of William
The Village People Band, South Belfast
The Rathcoole Teenage Thugs Loyalist Band
The East Belfast Uneducated Low-Life Flute Band
The Loyalist Terrorists’ Fan Club Flute Band
The Seymour Hill Foul-Mouthed Pride Of Ulster
The Macho Kick The Pope Flute Band, Larne
The Dundonald Dole-Scroungers Flute Band
The Coleraine Pride Of The Gutter Flute Band
The Ulster Refuse Collectors Flute Band
All Loyalist bands welcome. God Save The Queen……………………. (the fascist regime)
POOF PRIDE
I am considering the possibility of participating in next year’s gay pride parade. As a Northern Irishman, from a Protestant background, I do after all have a proven track record in parades. Besides, as I am ashamed to be a heterosexual, that ought to grant me an affinity with people who are proud to be homosexual. It’s hard not to be repulsed by heterosexuality when it seems that most men view young women as potential conquests and most young women apparently want to be with such men.
Nevertheless, why do gays have to flaunt their sense of self-pride? Clearly, it’s because after decades and even centuries of repressed feelings resulting from the ostracism and even persecution of homosexuality, gays and lesbians wish to celebrate their sexuality for all to see. I can only assume that in future years, traffic wardens will be holding a pride parade to signify their freedom from the understandable contempt that we all express towards these ‘jobsworths’. Why, even a pride parade for the employees of the Inland Revenue probably cannot be ruled out either.
There is however a suggestion in the word ‘pride’ that homosexuals want to boast of their sexuality, as if it is an enviable and much sought-after status symbol. A fine dividing line after all separates pride and boastfulness. I can only surmise that homosexuality is a quality that mere mortals like myself should strive to attain. I can now start to imagine a job interview where the applicant is asked to detail his achievements, and while his sporting prowess and various acts of heroism don’t register with the interview panel, his admission of being in a same sex relationship arouses the admiration of the interviewers. I now anticipate job application rejection letters in the post where I am informed that I wasn’t sufficiently homosexual to meet the exalted criteria.
Christians in particular are faced with an enormous moral dilemma over the issue of homosexuality. By refusing to tolerate same sex relationships, followers of Christ are labelled as bigots, but surely if the word of God decrees that homosexuality is unacceptable to our Creator, then who are we as His creation to defy His wishes. For a Christian to tolerate the unacceptable, is akin to someone tolerating drink drivers. I know that gay people will not enjoy this comparison, but it is important for them to understand that Christians and Muslims too regard homosexuality as wrong. How in the last analysis can they be expected to accept anything that they regard as wrong.
Meanwhile, one could argue that as William of Orange was almost certainly a homosexual, and the Orange Order are proud of him, there is a logic in arguing that Orange parades are further demonstrations of gay pride. Oh I do so envy these people who are so proud of their sexuality that they feel the need to parade it in front of everyone. Ultimately, I’m not gay…..just sad.