A Post From 14 Years Ago

 

Bert hasn't changed much in the last 14 years. He still goes out in public like an unkempt hobo. But now that he's older he feels the cold more and no longer goes commando. 

31st May, 2009

Bert was getting ready to make a delivery yesterday morning. He was wearing a threadbare shirt, filthy cords turned up at the ankle and grubby Birkenstocks. “You’re not going to walk into a garden centre looking like that, are you?” I yapped. “These are my working clothes,” says he. “For God’s sake,” says I. “People will think you’re a tramp! At least change your trousers.” “But I have no trousers,” says he. “Your arse!” says I. “Your drawers and wardrobes are full of trousers. Wait there till I get you a pair.” I brought him down a pair of Levis and, with enough to do, he changed into them. “You can get changed back into your filthy old trousers when you get back.” I said. And so he did.

Later that evening he had the job of taking Aunt Lizzie back to Kells. After a day in the tunnels and the vegetable patch he was even dirtier than before. “Do I have to change my trousers?” he enquired. “Ach no. Sure you’ll do. You’ll only be going in somewhere to buy wine and what odds if you’re bogging. They’ll not know you and they’ll just think you’re a crazy eccentric.”

He brought home the wine. We relaxed in the cool of the evening.

“I got the wine in Kells.”

”Did you?”

”Aye. And I ran into Sam Greer. He was asking if you were still working at the place down the road. And I could see that the girl at the checkout was pricking up her ears.”

”Oh dear God! And you standing there like a dirty hobo!”

”I said you were.”

”I’m the only woman works there! They’ll connect me with you!”

”And I said to him, ‘We got married you know!’”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And that’s not the worst of it. I looked down and weren’t my fly buttons open and my pubes sticking out!”

Blogger's Block

I struggle these days with Nelly's Garden. Two recent posts have discouraged me. The most recent was A Bit Of A Siege in which I described some fraught visits to Ikea. A response (from a dear cousin) worried me. I'd been critical of some aspects of my Ikea experience but ultimately felt that part of what went wrong was my own fault. My cousin had a relative (her husband's side of the family) who worked in the Belfast store and she was concerned, on his behalf, that I had a less than satisfactory experience. That worried me. Made me think that my attempts at light-heartedness might be making someone else feel less than good about themselves.

What can I say? I'm a snowflake. At least no-one has got in touch to rail against me for disrespecting the besieged defenders of Derry.

The other posting that attracted opprobrium was Alpha and Loudmouth. I wrote that one out of shame. Shame because I listened to vile racist abuse and did not speak up. In the comments in response to a regular commenter, I remarked that both women would have been Trump supporters if they lived in the USA. I am certain of that. This drew fierce comment from another regular commenter. I get it. I was associating racists with Trumpism. And I stand by that in the context of this place.

The thing is, I know my conservative (right-wing) and Loyalist neighbours. They don't trust Catholics, they don't like foreigners, they have little compassion for immigrants. They voted for Brexit, even though as citizens of Northern Ireland that was very much against their interests. British right-wingers mainly approve of the United States' current leader.

Definitely, Trump gets a very bad press in the kind of papers I read but I do understand this - not all Trump supporters are racist but, it does seem, that most racists are Trump supporters. And this is what I would like to know, and I know I have at least one Republican Trump supporter who reads this blog, is this - what is it about this man that you support?

The Wrong Trousers

Bert was getting ready to make a delivery yesterday morning. He was wearing a threadbare shirt, filthy cords turned up at the ankle and grubby Birkenstocks. “You’re not going to walk into a garden centre looking like that, are you?” I yapped. “These are my working clothes,” says he. “For God’s sake,” says I. “People will think you’re a tramp! At least change your trousers.” “But I have no trousers,” says he. “Your arse!” says I. “Your drawers and wardrobes are full of trousers. Wait there till I get you a pair.” I brought him down a pair of Levis and, with enough to do, he changed into them. “You can get changed back into your filthy old trousers when you get back.” I said. And so he did.

Later that evening he had the job of taking Aunt Lizzie back to Kells. After a day in the tunnels and the vegetable patch he was even dirtier than before. “Do I have to change my trousers?” he enquired. “Ach no. Sure you’ll do. You’ll only be going in somewhere to buy wine and what odds if you’re bogging. They’ll not know you and they’ll just think you’re a crazy eccentric.”

He brought home the wine. We relaxed in the cool of the evening.

“I got the wine in Kells.”

”Did you?”

”Aye. And I ran into Sam Greer. He was asking if you were still working at the place down the road. And I could see that the girl at the checkout was pricking up her ears.”

”Oh dear God! And you standing there like a dirty hobo!”

”I said you were.”

”I’m the only woman works there! They’ll connect me with you!”

”And I said to him, ‘We got married you know!’”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And that’s not the worst of it. I looked down and weren’t my fly buttons open and my pubes sticking out!”

Chain Gang Chic

I read that folks sentenced to community punishment are soon going to be wearing high-visibility 'shame jackets' emblazoned with the words 'Community Payback' on the back. I can't say I approve. After all, doesn't everyone and his dog wear hi-viz on the streets these days? What's wrong with good, old-fashioned black and white horizontal stripes? I saw, sometime in the late nineties, offenders garbed in this traditional fashion as they cleaned the streets of a small town somewhere in Mississippi, and I have to say that this looked a lot more eye-catching and shameful than a bright orange jacket.