I’m sure the extreme academics out there who read this will be quick to correct my reference source on the following, fill your boots fellow pedants because I really do not mind being corrected*
As I once heard in a Dirty Harry Film, Clint Eastwood’s character ‘Dirty’ Harry Callahan smouldered through gritted teeth, “Opinions are like assholes, everybody’s got one.” There are very few universal truths to which I subscribe but this is one of them. The others which I firmly, passionately and will fight you to death on is that cheese puffs, pot noodles and kebabs cure everything. Kebabs cure hangovers, its that disgusting unidentifiable mush of sheep’s bum holes and eyeballs blobbed together with vast amounts of grease that sees off even the worst morning after the night before alcohol shame. Cheese puffs and Pot Noodles are just empty calories of salt and enough additives to send an ADHD kid into the stratosphere but they are a comfort to which I return every time I need a reassuring dose of cuddle food.
So where do sewn up arseholes come into this? Lets get back to the “Opinions…” quote. Everybody does indeed have an arsehole and an opinion on something, but I genuinely believe that some people’s arseholes are sewn up tight with an invisible thread made out of bitterness, resentment and plain bloody nastiness.
This goes someway to explain why some people are so full of shit. They walk around with their vapid, vile opinions sewn into their very gut.
No I’m not going to go into a big political diatribe on the whole bizarre state of world politics right now – I prefer to do that face to face with people because when I speak to real people rather than watch mainstream media reports I feel a whole lot more reassured that there are a lot more kind hearted, kind minded and kind spirited people living amongst us than the Bid Bad Wolf News Mongers would have us believe.
Unfortunately sometimes face-to-face encounters are with the sewn up shit retainers of this world. One of these encounters was not my own, so this is a re-telling of an experience Mr. Trish had earlier this week.
The dogs and John were on their ritual morning wee-wee walk down to the end of our street (the dogs were having their wee-wees, not John, he’s fully housetrained and uses the toilet, even puts the seat down and everything. I know right? What a catch.) Now Mr. Trish is a very friendly chap, he’s the prime example of Geordie joviality and will stand and talk to anyone who wants to share time with him, stranger or friend. Stopping to share “morning morning” pleasantries with a woman he’d never met before, he was met with a pursed up lime sucking face and so much anal retention the smell was coming out of her mouth. She announced in her best Lady Bracknell** voice, “It’s against Antiguan law to have dogs in Jolly Harbour, do you live here? I don’t want you walking your dogs down past here again”
Wow! I mean, fucking WOW. No hellos, no how do you do, no kiss my arse or anything. She just torpedoed into announcing herself as the moral and legal arbiter for the whole of our little community. Technically there is a no dog rule in Jolly Harbour, but that’s hardly enforced. As long as your dogs don’t go around savaging people, shitting on golf carts or running away with your knickers off the washing line you’re fine. In fact at least six people in our immediate vicinity have dogs. John decided not to cause a diplomatic incident, smiled sweetly, told her yes we are home owners and we’ll be staying with our dogs thank you very much and wandered off with Holly and Fred, the dogs having shit and peed their load (which he poop scooped of course) he left the said angry women with a face like a smacked arse, came home to me and recounted the tale.
I was ready to march right down there and have it out with the bitch. John persuaded me this was probably not the right course of action because after all we’ve only lived here full time for six weeks. Instead we spoke to some of our other neighbours to see if they had a problem with us having dogs. The result? A resounding NO of course they don’t. Holly and Fred bring a smile to most people’s faces. I think this is because vacationers, and part time residents often have to leave their pets back at home and they love seeing and petting friendly happy dogs. It transpires that the particular sour faced person doesn’t like anyone or anything and is known for being a bit of a stuck up cow.
Holy shit! I don’t get it, Antigua might have it’s issues both socially and economically but hell’s teeth, as far as I can see, and its one of the reasons we moved here, people are friendly, accepting and share what they have. This extends to neighbourhoods and neighbours. Let me explain. This is a close-knit community, we live side by side and we all have to find a way to get on because we live in, quite frankly, a little piece of paradise. Whatever someone’s background is irrelevant because for whatever reason and however we’ve all chosen to spend time, money and invest emotionally in this little piece of rock stuck out in The Atlantic. Being confrontational isn’t just unhealthy for the soul, it doesn’t make logical sense because during hurricanes, floods or earthquakes the people you live next door to could quite literally one day save your life and you never know when you need to call on them. On a much smaller scale I compare this to a time I worked in a coffee shop; we had our fair share of moody bastard customers. I once had a customer throw his coffee at me and tell me to bring it back when it tasted of coffee (I didn’t know he liked a four shot espresso, not only because I was new and didn’t know his preference but he didn’t ask for a mad bastard rocket fuel dose of caffeine). Anyway, two lovely ladies looked on the unfolding mini-drama in horror as I was covered in coffee and asked if I was ok. I smiled sweetly and said I was fine, but I announced in a loud voice so that the coffee abuser could hear, “It’s fine, what people need to remember is that the person serving them their coffee could also GOB IN IT”.
I think we can all learn something from that, especially snot faced women who don’t live here full time. My dogs create copious amounts of shit, it’s got to go somewhere, and she might like to remember that.
* Despite what some people who know me might think.
**Watch ‘The Importance of Being Ernest’ the black and white version, you’ll thank me and if it leads you to the genius of Oscar Wilde and you become a disciple such as myself, welcome to the club.