Garry Potter And The Same Old Nonsense, David Backhim [the mitten read aloud txt] 📗

each partner has different qualities which can complement one another’s needs. It makes perfect sense. Against this background of widely-acknowledged common sense, you can imagine my own frustration at having to negotiate the pitfalls of life on my own. There have been many times when my flawed thinking would have benefited from the wisdom of a partner who could positively impact upon my decision-making. Instead of which, I find myself exasperated at my solo journey. Consider the following:
Have you ever watched the Grand National? It is a gruelling marathon, even for big powerful horses and accomplished jockeys who collectively are expected to overcome thirty obstacles in a four and a half mile race. By the second circuit, even with more than sixteen fences safely behind them, jockeys start to pull up their horses while as the race nears its conclusion, some animals simply refuse to jump another fence. Well folks, this big animal is in the same mode. I have leapt, with varying results, more than my share of obstacles, and now I am reaching the point where I will refuse the next jump. I guess it’s what one would call losing the will to live, and no amount of counselling, medication, therapy, or bible stories will persuade me otherwise, like some persistent jockey who knows that the winning post is merely a few fences away.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to live in a house with half of it missing, or to drive a car with half of it taken away? It would be miserable, not to mention impractical. In the continued absence of my other half, I remain half a person, to quote a Smiths’ track. When people see me or think of me, the expression must spring to their mind, ‘there but for the grace of God go I.’ God’s grace is a free gift. I look forward to the day when He bestows the blessing of a pretty woman on this half a person. Until such time, I remain hopelessly incomplete, and no happy ending is in sight.

OH LONESOME ME
I have to chuckle at those dreadful pop songs where the vocalist is pining about “I’m lonely without you, baby.” Do me a favour. Most people haven’t the first notion what loneliness really is. What is loneliness then? Loneliness is when your telephone doesn’t ring for about ten days. Loneliness is when the only person you speak to each day is the check-out assistant at the local supermarket. Loneliness is when you are alone with your thoughts 24/7 from Monday through Sunday, week after week, month by month, year in year out. Loneliness ultimately is when you could die and nobody would find your decaying body for more than a week. That’s loneliness.
It sounds truly terrible, but what exactly is the alternative? I don’t care much for Liverpool or Manchester United football supporters, nor followers of Glasgow Celtic, not even of Glasgow Rangers either. Ulster loyalists bore me and Irish republicans are equally tedious. Foul-mouthed men and women are tiresome. Big-headed, self-important types are a drag. Aficionados of violent action movies, of horrible pop music, reality tv watchers, not to mention trashy tabloid readers all fail to impress me. Self-righteous, holier-than-thou, disapproving ‘good living’ people are a turn-off too. Suddenly, perhaps the ghastly likelihood of lying, decomposing for more than 100 hours with flies buzzing around my corpse is quite appealing after all.

THE AFFLICTION OF FICTION
Why why why (and one more why) do people bury themselves in books about events that never happened, people who never lived, and places that don’t exist? Where is the modicum of sense in fiction when the rich tapestry of history has so much more to offer us concerning events that did happen, people who have lived, and places that do exist. Fiction should be confined to nine or ten-year-olds who are learning the art of essay writing. Adults should try living in the real world and stop trying to escape from both the glory and pain of past times. We shouldn’t dwell on the past, I hear you say. Fair enough, but we shouldn’t flee in the direction of never never land either. Besides, so many pieces of fiction are a fiction in themselves. How often does one find that a novel is based on the author’s personal experiences, with the character and place names merely altered? Well folks, such an exercise is not my idea of ‘creative writing’.

THE MYTH OF THE TITANIC
No I’m not about to suggest that ‘the unsinkable’ never sank at all, but here follows my humble attempt at what I would like to call historic revisionism. We have been frequently informed that the Titanic sank on its maiden voyage. Really? Where was it built? Let me remind you: Belfast. Where did the ship sail from en route to the United States? Let me remind you: Southampton. Unless the Titanic also made history by being the first ship to be transported by aeroplane, hovercraft, or hot air balloon, I would venture to suggest that its first voyage was indeed from Belfast to Southampton. Sorry to split hairs folks, but as anybody in the legal profession would confirm, it is absolutely crucial that we get our facts right, instead of perpetuating half-truths. Now who dares to sink this unsinkable argument?

REMEMBRANCE DAY
Throughout the United Kingdom and elsewhere in the world, people assemble at Cenotaphs to lay wreaths for the poor wretches who gave their young lives away so that our dearly beloved monarchy could continue to prosper – in all senses of the word. However, perhaps the real Remembrance Day isn’t November the eleventh. I would instead argue that either Good Friday or Easter Sunday ought to be regarded as Remembrance Day when the young Saviour of the World laid down His life so that we might have eternal life. Now that supreme, selfless sacrifice should be worthy of crowds gathering at Cenotaphs to lay wreaths in loving memory and respect for mankind’s greatest hero, who fought and won the greatest battle of all – over death. His resurrection proved this!

JEALOUSY
Whilst wee Northern Ireland’s football team were narrowly succumbing to another heroic defeat, this time in Spain, I and most folk from Norn Iron consoled ourselves with the fact that our dearly beloved neighbours in humble England had suffered a far greater humiliation at the hands of the ‘mighty’ Croatia. I’m certainly not anti-English, given that I am an armchair supporter of the cricket team and I even desired an England triumph in the rugby world cup final, if only because this was one tournament where the English emerged like a phoenix from the ashes to challenge for glory whereas normally they regard themselves as near-certainties before any sporting tournament even begins. I was after all born in England and I have lived a considerable chunk of my adult life in its green and pleasant land.
Most people from the Celtic nations nevertheless have distinct trouble warming to English sports stars when the ‘British’ Broadcasting Corporation, its radio stations, Sky Sports, and most irritatingly of all Blokesport, collectively prioritise coverage of English teams, relegating the seemingly less significant Celtic teams. This is painfully the case during the rugby union Six Nations, when one might be forgiven for thinking it’s a One Nation rugby tournament. Yes, over-exposure of England in the British sporting media only serves to antagonise the Celtic peoples, although one could counter that English success at the 1966 and 2003 football and rugby world cups has engendered a substantial amount of begrudging from the non-English members of the British Isles. However, putting the emotive issues of sport to one side, I have identified two groups of people who are particularly jealous of the English, for very different reasons.
Firstly, Irish republicans just loathe the English. They can dress their sectarian hatred in a multitude of ways, citing the predictable moan about centuries of English exploitation and oppression. There may be much historical evidence to validate this belief, but I would maintain that Irish republicans are jealous of the English. After all, while the English (and the rest of Britain) fought their way through the torment of the Second World War, the Irish republicans decided to sit out the conflict against fascist tyranny, probably hoping that the nation that contributed to the liberation of occupied Europe and the end of the Holocaust would actually be defeated. While England holds her head up at her resistance to the Nazis, the Oirish can hang their heads in shame. Similarly, while one finds many English soldiers contributing to the efforts of the United Nations peace-keeping forces, one will struggle to find a single citizen from Andersonstown or Ardoyne employed in such a role. Maybe that’s because Irish republicans don’t do peace-keeping.
The second group who are overcome with jealousy towards the English are Muslim immigrants. Of course many Muslim immigrants themselves become English, but frequently their loyalties are diverted towards Pakistan and the Islamic nations of the Middle East. A sizeable portion of British Muslims complain of an apparent police state in Britain, though few people (apart from Channel Four and Guardian readers) take their victim complex too seriously. The reality is that Muslim immigrants chose to come to England to avail themselves of what it has to offer, having fled from the brutal, unstable Islamic regimes that they continue to have an irrational sentimental attachment to. It must clearly rankle with British Muslims that Islamic countries have a shocking record on human rights and where personal advancement and prosperity is limited, while infidel Britain has (for all its flaws) an infinitely superior record on human rights, and a system of social security and meritocracy which collectively enables all newcomers the opportunities to cultivate a better existence for them and their families. If Islam is so truly wonderful, then why do Muslims have to migrate to ‘Christian’ (or secular) Britain?
Yes many Muslims are jealous of British democracy, and yet like the Irish republican hate mob, they detest the English so much that they come and live among them and claim state benefits!

LOYALIST BAND PARADE
The Shankill Young Pipe-Bombers Flute Band is holding its annual band parade this Friday night. Among the other bands expected to participate are the following:
The Tiger’s Bay Under-age Drinkers Flute Band
The