The Street Preacher and the Gormless. Oh, and Cows Too!
Would you buy a jigsaw with a scan of your brain on it? You'll have to make up your own mind. It's okay, I've just overmedicated again.
You see, when I get a thought about the subject of my writing it comes in a wave of inspiration that inevitably ends in a goodbye one.
More than usual one of those days where I wake up with an idea, then suddenly others come into my consciousness like a crashing wave, and before I know it my initial thought becomes drowned in the ensuing tsunami.
I should probably note this initial burst of inspiration by sending a reminder to myself via a text message, and I most likely would if it wasn't for waking up at stupid o'clock and immediately falling back into my comfortable, and much-needed slumber. I live in constant envy of people who consistently sleep for eight hours, or more, with no problem at all. You know, those among us who are asleep within five minutes of their head hitting the pillow and probably wouldn't wake up even if a bomb exploded within close proximity while they were fast akip? Damn you all! With much love, of course.
You see, in order for me to get a full night of blissfully undisturbed sleep I have to resort to self-medication of an over-the-counter brand of liquid that goes into battle with cold and flu germs overnight, with the added bonus of knocking me flat out. Not that I'm in any way recommending such drastic action, you understand. it just happens to work for me, and as for colds and flu - well, those germs seem to know better than to enter a potential warzone with my nuclear-armed white corpuscles by now. So there.
Anyway, back to the subject of my writing today, yesterday, and the day before. Even though it may appear that I'm bashing out these blogs ad-infinitum while speeding my nut off on amphetamines, nothing would be farther from the truth. You see, what may be only a few paragraphs of reading for you will take me two to three days to write. Or put another way, what takes you five minutes, or less to read, takes me up to three days to write. To me, words and paragraphs come in bursts, and some days are more productive than others.
So, for instance, today is a slow day - a zilch day where naff all of any relevance is written, even though I have a log jam of stuff building up in my mind. For now though, it's back to the last third of my magic medicine, and let's see what tomorrow, day four will produce.
So, here I am again, having fully slept and with my mind on making an apple crumble while being interrupted with the thought of the Angela Rayner non-story - such is the viciousness of politics, and the seemingly now perennial issue of migrants that are either here in the UK, or on their way. I'll therefore stick with plan b for now, leave the crumble until later, and Angela Rayner it is.
To be honest, I've never been a great Labour Party supporter, and more so, in recent years under the leadership of Corbyn and his Momentum cronies as they've been lurching too far to the left in my opinion. Then came Starmer, who I've been watching with some degree of caution since he took office as leader of the party, and while he has a great many qualities in terms of his experience within the legal system and his sincerity as a politician, I simply wouldn't rate him as a potential Prime Minister.
On the plus side, however, I do endorse the appointment of colleagues such as Wes Streeting and Angela Rayner because they've both come from humble backgrounds and have made their way to the top of British politics through hard-won life experiences, rather than so many of the career politicians within the present government. I'm not saying they don't exist within the Labour camp as within other parties, it's simply a matter of trust and being more down to earth than most others. Excuse the unintended pun, but I don't wish to labour over the subject any more than I have as this has been written about in a previous blog post, so, I'll move on.
Well, it's now day five and I'm four days without my pancreas medication due to the chemist having to order it prior to the weekend, and will go some way towards explaining my general sluggishness. Quite frankly, it's one fifteen in the afternoon and already I'm seriously considering going back to bed. However, conversely, I know full well that if I do my sleep tonight will be even more impaired. So, I'll carry on regardless and look forward to tomorrow when I have my prescription and life returns to some semblance of normality - though I still have no idea as to what normality for me is. Except I won't be in so much discomfort.
Enough from me already, and back to what arguably I know best - highlighting the lunacy of the world outside these four walls. My local rag, the Bristol Post gave mention to a street preacher the other day who is known for proselytising on matters to do with abortion, and his views, shall we say, are rather extreme at the very least - and it, therefore, comes as no great surprise he attracts such condemnation from passing females who boo, hiss, jeer, and more with every venomous sentence he utters. According to the Post "An altercation allegedly occurred between Pastor Moody and a number of people outside the (university) building and police were called." Furthermore, "He was arrested for allegedly pushing a woman who was standing on one of his placards, which had been knocked to the ground, and said he was also assaulted in the melee".
Okay, so notwithstanding that preaching his views outside of a university building arguably wasn't the smartest move, and accepting that we live in a society where free speech is, albeit for now sacrosanct, and although like a great many others, I don't concur with anything he says, if he chooses to stand on a step ladder and make his views known to the passing public then all power to him.
I find the best way is to be a grown-up and totally ignore him when he chooses to preach in the city centre on a Saturday afternoon. I'm not being forced to engage with him, and like everyone else, I have the free will to walk on by and not be a part of his audience building, which, unlike others, I exercise. Simple.
However, in these emotional times where outpourings of feelings far outweigh all sensibility, the lure of engagement with people such as Pastor Moody becomes irresistible to the point where they become so upset by their own response it becomes a pointless exercise in self-flagellation. Any realisation that if people didn't stop to listen and walked on by, Pastor Moody and people like him would be talking to the wind, get bored after a while, give up the ghost, and go back home. Their relevance would be of no importance at all.
However, we live in an age where people choose to be upset about the least little thing that the majority of us 'adults' (as opposed to kidults) would simply shrug off as being inconsequential by comparison to the more important things in life, such as keeping a roof over our heads, paying the bills, and putting food on the table.
Other than this, what must matter above all else has to do with our personal security, and what poses a threat to our everyday existence. Matters of safety regarding ourselves, and our families in relation to matters of national security are far more important than the majority of things the adult nappy-wearing fraternity concern themselves with and feel oh so offended by when growing a spine would prove far more useful. Yet, people choose to play the avoidance game instead by apportioning blame to someone, or something other than themselves, and deflecting issues to be resolved within in doing so. The blame game being the lesser of two evils, and a far easier option than having to face the unresolved demons within. The truth is that there are fewer people who actually like, or even love themselves nowadays in what's becoming an increasingly insecure world: and it's getting worse.
I could probably go on, especially as I've just read a news item, again in the Post, regarding some residents in South Gloucestershire who are complaining about a farmer returning livestock to his land, and using derelict barns to house calves could devalue their property. There's something for you to mull over while inside my head I'm screaming……… “IT'S A FARM!”
Meanwhile, my indecisiveness over what next to write about is still somewhere between a wave and a tsunami. Oh, and a bottle of medicine to knock me out.