Neither of us could be
bothered going to town today as we’ve both been doing a lot of running around
these last few days and so wanted Christmas Eve to be as relaxed as possible.
As an alternative, we walked with Jack to Bulwell for a change of scenery. It
wasn’t much of a change of scenery for me of course because I work there twice
a week entertaining connoisseurs of high quality music, but we haven’t been
here together for a while. The main reason for going was our now traditional Christmas
Eve custom, the pound-shop-fiver-dash. Usually we take a shop each and split
up, we are only allowed five minutes (queuing doesn’t count because for some
reason it takes ages despite the prices being so bloody easy), but today we had
to use the same shop. If you’ve ever seen Bulwell, you’ll be amazed that it
only has one pound shop.
Jack was wearing tinsel around
his neck which attracted the attention of everyone who saw him; it was nice to
see so much Christmas spirit going on in such a low-rent chav-hole of a town.
That is, apart from one woman who I encountered having a to-do with some shop
staff. I was waiting with Jack outside while Mandi took her turn at the dash,
when I became aware of some commotion just inside. This woman (of questionable
mental ability) was shouting and swearing for all to hear. Now, we all love to
see a nutter yelling the odds in a crowded public area, but there were a lot of
children around. I politely pointed out that she shouldn’t be using that sort
of language in front of children (especially on a child’s most exciting day of
the year) and she turned on me. Not only did she call me all the fucking cunts
under the sun, she also said things to me in Jamaican patois and then accused
me of being racist simply because I had ‘picked on’ her. I wasn’t singling her
out for being black, I was singling her out for being a gobshite in front of
children; as much as I pepper my everyday talk with naughty words, I have a
sense of time and place. After she had accused me of being a racist, she called
me a white cunt, which kind of contradicted her argument. She eventually
wandered off, shouting and swearing as she went, and I noticed a little girl
with her dad. I apologised to them both (not that I had anything to apologise
for) and said to the daughter that she shouldn’t have had to hear that sort of
thing. She came over to stroke Jack and said that the woman was naughty and
that Santa wouldn’t be visiting her. That was probably the sweetest thing I
have heard for a long time.
Even better than that was the old
man who rode past on his mobility scooter and commented that “she’ll make
someone a lovely wife one day”.
===
My daily blog can be delivered straight to your Kindle
for 99p a month (link)
I’m raising money to make a film about The Sunday Alternative and put on a free screening, please
read my latest newsletter.
Any money donated to the PayPal account above will be
used to make films, podcasts, and other content that will be made available
free of charge.
