I hate big spoons and nail polish!’.  One of my classics, I jotted it down late on Saturday evening and promised it would mark the start of my next post.  None the wiser?  Who would be, really, but makes perfect sense to me!  Big spoons?  Well, some people must have big mouths!  Nail polish?  There’s just something about polished finger nails – everyday.  Yes, for a party or a wedding but everyday?  Perfect with a Rolex, I suppose!

The old Trish-Trash, full of fun facts, opinions and trivia!  What happened?  The world took an absolute nose-dive and became one immersed in fear and anger.  So much anger!  One big mob rule dictating that which each and every one of us must think and believe.  No more opinions to the contrary; well, they must never be voiced.  Freedom of Speech?  Consigned to the history books.  Hold on, though, history is irrelevant or must be erased on a whim.  The fact that we, as a nation – and as individuals – are a product of the past is of no consequence unless the past is benign according to the modern day ‘dictatorship’.  Help!

I looked forward to writing something light, yesterday, but that was before I scrolled through the weekend’s Telegraph online.  I almost made it until I spotted this article in the Comment section of the aforementioned newspaper, dated 11 June, 2020.  Penned by a Suzanne Moore, it was entitled: ‘Who decided that letting posh young actors police my womanhood was progress?’.  Well, that’s like a red rag to a bull!

Obviously, referring to J K Rowling and the ensuing savagery she has been subjected to following the posting of her opinion, on Twitter – defending the existence of women in the true, biological sense – much of the article was in support of the author.  She added to the absurdity by noting that, in her Doctor’s surgery, those who are advised to have smear tests are termed as ‘people with cervixes’!  She, also, pointed out the imbalance in that, in the transgender world, it is, seemingly, only the term ‘women’ which is in need of snopake; no reference to any terminology denoting a transgender man!

Of course I accept trans people exist and need support, but why must my reality be erased to do so?’

Good point.  In fact, the article, thus far, made a lot of sense – and, seemingly, from an unbiased viewpoint until … and, yes, there it was: the gift that is Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Eddie Redmayne!  Of course, relevant, as each saw fit to criticise J K for her apparent lack of support for the transgender community but the best bit is that they, also, happen to be well-spoken, educated, intelligent – oh, and good-looking.  Well, I’ll be damned, that’s not fair.  They are not worthy, just posh!  Irrelevant.

I am a grown woman – but am I to have posh young actors police my womanhood and be told that this is progress?’

Then – below – she ended on a high!

I won’t be shut up by those who have never had to fight for a single right they enjoy.’

So, there we have it – the undermining of her entire argument.  Does Suzanne Moore really support J K Rowling in her bid to secure the word ‘woman’ – and her right to Free Speech – or did she, merely, see an opportunity to unleash her inner chip?   The word ‘posh’ has no place in this debate.  Moreover, she knows nothing of the personal struggles of the three actors she, so flippantly, chose to malign.  Big mistake.

The Train of Protest.  One of multiple carriages, seemingly, providing the perfect opportunity – and cover – for those who wish to enter the competition for the most deserving victim!  Take the example of Priti Patel, Home Secretary, in the Commons last week …  Asked by Labour MP, Florence Eshalomi, ‘Does the Home Secretary recognise that there is structural inequality, discrimination and racism in our country?’, she responded to the condescending question by citing her own experience.  The perfect retort?  You’d think so but the article, from which I learned of this (‘I’m back on Twitter and I can see in terrifying close-up how driven people are to dismantle our culture.’, Zoe Strimpel; “Comment, The Telegraph, 14/6/20) describes how the Home Secretary, then, received a letter from Labour MP, Naz Shah – signed by a further 32 Labour MPs – which she shared on Twitter.  Within said letter, Priti Patel was told that being a person of colour ‘does not automatically make you an authority on all matters of racism.’.  Green light on Twitter and that comment received a barrage of support from enraged commenters of widespread ethnic backgrounds!  The logic?  Well, Zoe Strimpel wrote:

Suddenly the arguments that underpin their entire politics – that identity (race, sexuality, gender) is everything in deciding who is victim and who is aggressor – ceased to apply.  Sorry, Priti – your experience of racism is illegitimate because the pack doesn’t like your politics.’

Makes a mockery.  Welcome aboard The Train of Protest.  Choose any carriage – no matter – as each is a vehicle for the supposed hard done by; a platform for the aggrieved.  One size fits all!

Amidst this climate of furore pertaining to the Black Lives Matter movement, I was reminded of the most wonderful film, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner – no question mark, apparently.  Anyway, forever one of my favourites, the 1967 classic stars Spencer Tracy, Katharine Hepburn and Sidney Poitier – to name but three.  The story portrays the struggle of two sets of parents – black and white – as they come to terms with the unexpected, forthcoming marriage of their offspring.  The endearing simplicity of the film ensures emotions are laid bare as the arguments against the marriage are, one by one, cast aside in the realisation that prejudice is no adversary when it comes to love.  It is one powerful film with one powerful message!  In an ideal world – my ideal world – it would be compulsory viewing for all!

Let me end with a taster in two of the best quotes.  Firstly, Spencer Tracy’s character to his daughter and fiancé:

You’re two wonderful people who happened to fall in love and happened to have a pigmentation problem and I think that, now, no matter what kind of a case some bastard could make against you getting married, there would be only one thing worse and that would be that – knowing what you, two, are, knowing what you, two, have, and knowing what you, two, feel – you didn’t get married.’

To my mind, however, the words of Sidney Poitier to his father are, at once, the most moving and the most pertinent:

Dad, you’re my father.  I’m your son.  I love you.  I always have and I always will but you think of yourself as a coloured man; I think of myself as a man.’

This is Trish, signing off.