Friday 10:00 p.m.
When I got to the auld maw's kitchen today, the wummin, who's helping out now that Auntie Kathy is a bit knackered, was ironing some claes on the kitchen table. Nice wummin. Don't know if she's a carer for my older brother or a girlfriend. Misses her maw who died recently. Did nine years for killing her man, and her son is doing serious time for knifing her nine times and being a junkie basturn. These are known as the "terrs" of the working class. I think the "terrs" might be northern Irish.
They are so non-judgemental, so compassionate, these people. Seeing them makes me hate all the basturn bourgeois basturns I have to deal with socially ... I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be talking to them. I really don't like them. I like the folk in Bellshill much better!
There's a teevee show starting about this vicar called Peter Owen Jones. I'm a fan. He did great programmes before about being a sadhu, etc. Anyway, now he's doing St Francis, of whom I am a totally great fan! So he's giving up money, and trying to trade, and barter and whatnot. Try that around here, Jack, and you'll end up bartering your kidneys for a plate of porridge. I've tried it with the hut. I could have swopped some head standing lessons for a bit of carpentry. Basturns! Not interested. The evillest, bound for hell, and richly deserving of it are the horrible Scottish middle classes. They are not funny. They are not even the slightest bit amusing. The only thing they have to bring to the table of human beingness is their disgusting, grasping selves. They can't sing; they don't dance; they cannot laugh. Why did moi end up consorting with them? Thank god I learned to meditate so that my next rebirth will be amongst nice creatures, who are not so funged up, and live in a planet far, far away.
These evil fungpigs do not celebrate the milk of human kindness. They really don't.
By the way, I think you should be let off if you kill your partner. A crime of passion. Any member of your family, or anybody you know really well, should be fair game.
10 comments:
A classic!
Doggy! I was pissed of course! Hotboy
Don't see what you're complaining about. At least you've got roots you like returning to. What have I got? Bavaria! No help at all.
There's balance everywhere. In my experience, proletarians are delightful, amusing, inspiring etc, and a shower of basturns as well. Just like the bourgeoisie. Either you've been unwise in your choice of middle class chums, or you're afflicted with imbalance.
PS It's hard to imagine, but I suppose even Freischwebende like myself must be a mixture of good and bad.
PPS
I was inspired to see that the Bellshilliians in your story achieve balance by compressing all their judgementalsim into the moment before knifing somebody. Taoism for terrs.
Albert? So you're a Freischwebende now, are you? I blush to think what that might entail! Hotboy
It's all toilets with you, isn't it?
Albert? I don't know. Is it? Hotboy
I say!
Well, blow my quokka (as they say on Rottnest Island)! Sounded like a completely sober post to moi.
MM III
Mingin'! I didn't realise you could type pissed till I started blogging. Nothing something you really want to know! Hotboy
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