It is me or is everything a load of bull?
In their infinite imbecility the authorities in UK have banned the story of "The Three Little Pigs" from schools libraries: it might offend children of a certain faith. Whoever has decided this course of action must have a mind so blank and flat that you could probably land a plane on it. Or he/she must be two bricks short of the top of the wall.
What is going to happen to the "piggy bank" so dear to children and adults alike in most of the Western world? It might be replaced by a camel, a cockerel, a cow (no, that would offend some other people), a cat (again it might ruffle the backs in the land of the Pharoes). But even if we found a form of gizmo to save the centimos or the pennies it would not have the connotation of the little pig. In the old days the pig was as safe as money in the bank: it ate anything and everything, roamed around the farmyard without much supervision and at the end of its days, apart from the contents of the guts, everything was edible from the ears to the trotters. If you had a pig in the yard it was as good as banknotes under the mattress.
Slowly our Western culture, with its traditions, folklore, family habits and beloved rituals is being eroded by coward governments and an army of dangerous do-gooders. I was told last week that one State in America has ruled that the "Christmas" tree was to be renamed "Holiday" tree not to ruffle some delicate feathers. What is Christmas going to be called? After all Emperor Constantine, fed up with the upsurge of Christianity competing with the pagan belief of the time, decided to put a stop to the nonsense and merge the two faiths to celebrate a festival which coincided, on December 25th, to the winter solstice. Wise man.
What is going to happen to Elmer, the lovable bully pig in some Walt Disney cartoons? He may as well shoot himself through his hunting cap and leave the rabbit bemused to have lost a friend. "What's up Doc?"
What is up is a long dark tunnel of ignorance and intolerance ventilated at regular intervals by an army of do-gooders on fat salaries. Of whatever falls in the coffers of those innumerable charities only a meagre 10% actually gets to the people in need. And even so, as soon as the plane lands on compressed sand or dried grass, the locusts on two legs make sure that the booty disappears somewhere else. Reminds me of a photograph that was sent to my mother in 1942 by the Nazis in charge of the camp where my father had been prisoner since 1940. Those so-called human beings used to starve the prisoners for days at a time. Then they would let them loose in the near-by woods and drop pieces of dried bread and rotten meat from helicopters. The scramble for that filth was filmed. There were no friends anymore. Suddenly the hunger took over and blocked any sense of decency. Some of the prisoners were shot down from the chopper and the survivors were rounded up in their pens. All pictures were sent to the families. Do you think things have changed since then? Not a bit of it. Watch the news sometimes on what happens in Africa.
I am waiting anytime now for "Little Red Riding Hood" to be buried under the archives of some dusty museum together with the Grimm's tales and Andersen fantasies on the order of some charities to help the children, help the animals, save the whales, save the sardines, save the cockroaches and for goodness sake save the minus IQ of those responsible for all those charities who are on a comfortable salary anyway.
Where are we going?
Nowhere. We are plodding through a morass of stupidity, ignorance and intolerance that has got to stop if we do not want to end up fighting each other's neighbours.
I have lived in different countries. Many people do that and there are only two reasons for the move, temporary or permanent. One, there is an offer of work that you can't get at home and two, the work you are doing is far better paid than at home. The perks are better, the climate usually is, the accommodation a dream and the social life a bore. The latter being a small price to pay to become a member of the Country Club.
There are, of course a lot of inconveniences: local religions, local rituals and local sports that one is not too keen on watching. After 35 years in Spain, on and off, I'd rather read a good book on my terrace than joining the crowd in the bullring. But I understand that bullfight is running through the veins of our host country and there is no decree from Brussels that will forbid this Spanish ritual. There is also the local gastronomy, that word so bandied about in any country. Spain has no gastronomy as such. It offers peasant food like the paella, migas (this solid concoction of semola, chorizo and black pudding served on rainy days and guaranteed to stick to your palate for ever), a selection of cheeses that smell like Marseilles soap and could be used to build your new terrace and a vast assortment of industrially made sweets fit to keep your dentures in place for longer than you wish. But you can also convert to chicken that are raised in cages big enough to accommodate a one-kilo bird and are superposed in dozens of rows so unless you live on the top floor the chickens live their few miserable weeks of life with excrements of the cage above constantly falling on their bodies. You can also decide to go veggies. The illegal immigrants in Spain and other European countries are paid 3 centimos (yes..) a kilo of broccoli they pick at speed on the fields. The supermarkets are selling the same broccoli at 5 Euros a kilo. And the pickers are treated basically the same as the chickens in their cages.
A load of s..t from a society that calls itself civilized.
But then we have the king pin: the pig, that wonderful source of varied delicacies from the humble trotters to the sublime Pata Negra ham from the Extremadura. Are we going to loose that as well as Elmer and the piggy bank to satisfy a section of population that have chosen, sometimes at great risk to their lives, to live in comfort and freedom in the Western countries? This is a load of ….. I would like to know how many Christian churches are built in the sands of the desert and how many priests (of whatever denomination) are allowed to celebrate Mass or Services on Sundays under the killing sun and the smell of dung.
The whole issue is turning into a cauldron of pigswill. Live and let live to remember that one's freedom ends where the freedom of others start. This can be taken both ways. To me it is the essence of living in harmony in a country that is not yours.
If you don't like the country that is providing you with shelter, work, medical assistance, education, services and general help then it is time to use the laptop and book a one way ticket to your own country.
The rest is simply a load of bull.
What is going to happen to the "piggy bank" so dear to children and adults alike in most of the Western world? It might be replaced by a camel, a cockerel, a cow (no, that would offend some other people), a cat (again it might ruffle the backs in the land of the Pharoes). But even if we found a form of gizmo to save the centimos or the pennies it would not have the connotation of the little pig. In the old days the pig was as safe as money in the bank: it ate anything and everything, roamed around the farmyard without much supervision and at the end of its days, apart from the contents of the guts, everything was edible from the ears to the trotters. If you had a pig in the yard it was as good as banknotes under the mattress.
Slowly our Western culture, with its traditions, folklore, family habits and beloved rituals is being eroded by coward governments and an army of dangerous do-gooders. I was told last week that one State in America has ruled that the "Christmas" tree was to be renamed "Holiday" tree not to ruffle some delicate feathers. What is Christmas going to be called? After all Emperor Constantine, fed up with the upsurge of Christianity competing with the pagan belief of the time, decided to put a stop to the nonsense and merge the two faiths to celebrate a festival which coincided, on December 25th, to the winter solstice. Wise man.
What is going to happen to Elmer, the lovable bully pig in some Walt Disney cartoons? He may as well shoot himself through his hunting cap and leave the rabbit bemused to have lost a friend. "What's up Doc?"
What is up is a long dark tunnel of ignorance and intolerance ventilated at regular intervals by an army of do-gooders on fat salaries. Of whatever falls in the coffers of those innumerable charities only a meagre 10% actually gets to the people in need. And even so, as soon as the plane lands on compressed sand or dried grass, the locusts on two legs make sure that the booty disappears somewhere else. Reminds me of a photograph that was sent to my mother in 1942 by the Nazis in charge of the camp where my father had been prisoner since 1940. Those so-called human beings used to starve the prisoners for days at a time. Then they would let them loose in the near-by woods and drop pieces of dried bread and rotten meat from helicopters. The scramble for that filth was filmed. There were no friends anymore. Suddenly the hunger took over and blocked any sense of decency. Some of the prisoners were shot down from the chopper and the survivors were rounded up in their pens. All pictures were sent to the families. Do you think things have changed since then? Not a bit of it. Watch the news sometimes on what happens in Africa.
I am waiting anytime now for "Little Red Riding Hood" to be buried under the archives of some dusty museum together with the Grimm's tales and Andersen fantasies on the order of some charities to help the children, help the animals, save the whales, save the sardines, save the cockroaches and for goodness sake save the minus IQ of those responsible for all those charities who are on a comfortable salary anyway.
Where are we going?
Nowhere. We are plodding through a morass of stupidity, ignorance and intolerance that has got to stop if we do not want to end up fighting each other's neighbours.
I have lived in different countries. Many people do that and there are only two reasons for the move, temporary or permanent. One, there is an offer of work that you can't get at home and two, the work you are doing is far better paid than at home. The perks are better, the climate usually is, the accommodation a dream and the social life a bore. The latter being a small price to pay to become a member of the Country Club.
There are, of course a lot of inconveniences: local religions, local rituals and local sports that one is not too keen on watching. After 35 years in Spain, on and off, I'd rather read a good book on my terrace than joining the crowd in the bullring. But I understand that bullfight is running through the veins of our host country and there is no decree from Brussels that will forbid this Spanish ritual. There is also the local gastronomy, that word so bandied about in any country. Spain has no gastronomy as such. It offers peasant food like the paella, migas (this solid concoction of semola, chorizo and black pudding served on rainy days and guaranteed to stick to your palate for ever), a selection of cheeses that smell like Marseilles soap and could be used to build your new terrace and a vast assortment of industrially made sweets fit to keep your dentures in place for longer than you wish. But you can also convert to chicken that are raised in cages big enough to accommodate a one-kilo bird and are superposed in dozens of rows so unless you live on the top floor the chickens live their few miserable weeks of life with excrements of the cage above constantly falling on their bodies. You can also decide to go veggies. The illegal immigrants in Spain and other European countries are paid 3 centimos (yes..) a kilo of broccoli they pick at speed on the fields. The supermarkets are selling the same broccoli at 5 Euros a kilo. And the pickers are treated basically the same as the chickens in their cages.
A load of s..t from a society that calls itself civilized.
But then we have the king pin: the pig, that wonderful source of varied delicacies from the humble trotters to the sublime Pata Negra ham from the Extremadura. Are we going to loose that as well as Elmer and the piggy bank to satisfy a section of population that have chosen, sometimes at great risk to their lives, to live in comfort and freedom in the Western countries? This is a load of ….. I would like to know how many Christian churches are built in the sands of the desert and how many priests (of whatever denomination) are allowed to celebrate Mass or Services on Sundays under the killing sun and the smell of dung.
The whole issue is turning into a cauldron of pigswill. Live and let live to remember that one's freedom ends where the freedom of others start. This can be taken both ways. To me it is the essence of living in harmony in a country that is not yours.
If you don't like the country that is providing you with shelter, work, medical assistance, education, services and general help then it is time to use the laptop and book a one way ticket to your own country.
The rest is simply a load of bull.
Jocelyne
