Things are not going well! Firstly, who the hell is DJ Spoony?! Exactly. My point. Seems that Ken Bruce has the audacity to take another week off, next week, and I am left with DJ Spoony! 2022 in a nutshell. The very name is enough. Is it a bird or a plane or just a being? That’s the word, ‘being’. That’s what we’re all reduced to, isn’t it? Anyway, now, I shall have to go to all the trouble of finding another suitable station as a replacement for Ken Bruce, next week, which does not augur well. Add to that … well, so many things. Quite frankly, I’m not sure where to start.
At the very beginning? Which reminds me, I wonder when that wonderful film is on over the Christmas period? Almost too sad to watch, be that we are not in Austria for the third year running. The Advent Market with the little wooden huts in the square, stretching up through the village as far as the eye can see, only the majestic snow-capped mountains beyond. Mugs of Gluhwein, courtesy of Sepp, so more-ish as, wrapped up, we endeavour to keep warm and, then, Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the 11th Century Pilgrim church – an absolute privilege. Over the years, we would sit in the same pew, to the side, separate from the main congregation. It became our seat and little by little, we were recognised – and accepted. For, it is a service taken very seriously by the locals and, at first, it was as though we were intruding … The best part, though – Christmas – was/is after the service when everyone gathers in the square below and the brass band plays Silent Night from the church tower above. Christmas in the snow-capped mountains of Austria. The real Christmas. Truly magical …
Well, I’ve depressed myself! Next year … Meanwhile, here we are, darkness all around – literally and metaphorically – as the rain teems down outside. The tree is up – complete with the antique white lights from last year which are, actually, soft pink – and my beloved reindeer are back in situ, their sleigh filled with baubles, pine cones and leaves, and bright red berries to boot. Job done. Exhausted, complete with broken knees having crawled under the eaves to retrieve my trusty boxes and bags of decorations and baubles, old friends, now, whose familiar presence is a reminder of home. Time to batten down the hatches, bring out Bing and the Bublé, crack open the Lanson – or Cervaro – and wallow, safe from the horror of the outside world for a few days.
The horror that is Nicola Sturgeon, for one! Please Santa, grant me my wish and make her just go away … Sadly, she has featured all too heavily in the news over the past few days, perhaps at her hypocritical best in her critique of Jeremy Clarkson’s inflammatory column in The Sun apropos Meghan Markle.
‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so consumed and distorted by hate of other people … Words have consequences in that, if they stir up hate against an individual, then there are some people out there who would try to act on it.’
Yes, the words of the ‘White Stiletto’, herself. Seriously? Has she lost the plot? The hypocrisy is glaring! Her whole life is devoted to her hatred of the English, initially fuelled by her self-confessed hatred of Maggie …
‘Thatcher was the motivation for my entire political career. I hated everything she stood for.’
WE KNOW! The irony is, she is guilty of everything of which she accuses Jeremy Clarkson – and more. She incites hatred, constantly, in those driven by grievance; her die-hard supporters incapable of an intelligent thought as to the dire reality of her dream of independence, instead, preferring to hurl abuse – and spit, if necessary – at anyone who stands in her way. Remember the appalling behaviour at the hustings for Prime Minister in Perth in the summer? In fact, who can forget the aggression which characterised the ‘once in a generation’ Referendum of 2014 when the ‘Yes’ voters thought they had it in the bag only because the majority were, deliberately, less vocal in fear for not only their property but themselves? On you go, though, Nicola, criticising Jeremy. Pot calling the kettle black but … Jeremy is public-school educated and therein lies your real gripe. Ironically, you do have much in common with that awful Markle woman, however – a huge chip, for one, washed down with lashings of hypocrisy!
Yet another who must hang his head in shame and beg forgiveness for his supposed ‘white privilege’ – for that, read ‘just breathing’ – Laurence Fox was subject to a verbal attack, for just that, by Dr (must remember the ‘Dr’) Tessa Dunlop, a historian, writer and broadcaster, apparently, on GB News, this week. In relation to the Jeremy Clarkson column, of course. Well, it was supposed to be a debate, of sorts, apropos free speech, but Dr Dunlop merely hurled abuse at Laurence referring to him as ‘white’, ‘public school educated’ and, all-in-all, not worthy of an opinion because he belongs to Jeremy Clarkson’s club! It was embarrassing – for her. Laurence positively mocked her – saying practically nothing – while she was clearly oblivious, intent, only, on attacking him for his birthright. Same old, same old. Reverse racism. Distorted racism. Welcome to the world of victimhood. A scary world in which education and class are, henceforth, the greatest evil. God help us all!
God help us all! It’s becoming my mantra, a bit like Dave Allen’s in the Seventies – ‘May your God go with you.’ He, though, meant it kindly while mine is a cry of frustration and despair. Do you blame me? My friend, Emily, sent me a link, today, to a post on Twitter relating to the Scottish Parliament passing the amended Gender Recognition Bill yesterday. It would make anyone embarrassed to be Scottish – as would the totally untenable ‘new’ Gender Recognition Bill. Of course, this has nothing to do with said bill. This is that hideous woman’s reply to the Supreme Court’s denial of her repeated bid for independence without the consent of Westminster. To hell with the consequences, too. Welcome to Scotland, the land of the free. Man today. Woman tomorrow. The land where anything goes …
To be continued. Meanwhile, a suitable quote?
‘The most expensive thing you will ever do is spend time with the wrong people.’
So true, funny how it seems … No. Enough! Learned that a long time ago. Life is short. Surround yourself with those you love – all that matters.
Happy Christmas – and God help us all!
This is Trish, signing off.