My Words 18^th August 2014

Several months ago I decide to 400 words each day. 4000 words later and an extended writer’s block here I am again. This time I find myself fearful and slightly embarrassed. The main reason for the embarrassment – if not the need for the spell checker to express myself – is that those words are lost to a broken disk drive. I really know better and should have backed those words of wisdom up to the cloud, or whatever it will be called in the future.

Secondly, why have I waited so long to do this?

Thirdly, is writing my notes down every day a horrible cliché. After all, everyone is blogging, tweeting, and trying to be a stand up comic these days.

Finally, this is an admission of therapy. Mostly general rants about every day life that get on my nerves. These will all pale in to insignificance given all the serious problems in the world these days.

There are other things I need to mention again, as only the author read these ramblings last time. Most important of these and the elephant in the writing room was my English Language O-level grade at the end of eleven years of Catholic school education. In fact, it wasn’t a grade. It was a ‘U’. That’s no grade at all. Not even worth marking. Although I do take some pride in getting enough right that they knew it was me!

And finally, the final, final issue. Are these words my own? The sentiments are, but am I using words that aren’t my own. Do I really speak like this? But that’s not not important. Although, I am my own worst critic. Unless, I let someone else read me being sick on to a keyboard. Then they might be nice to me hoping I won’t go crazy on them.

Now that’s all said and I’ve made my peace with myself, let’s jump straight in a the deep end!

Scotish Independance

Firstly, my spell checker does not recognise the word Scotish. Perhaps, if I paid Microsoft, it would. But I have opted for the free option (if anything ever is free). Secondly, while the idea is fresh. Should I get some tattoos? Of course the answer is no. But they seem to be the thing these days.

So, the Scots will be voting for freedom next month. Freedom from the tyranny of the English, the Torries, and Thatcher. Even though she’s dead, that will be one in the eye for her. Take that, 30 years after the Poll Tax.

If I had my way, two things should happen before the vote:

1. Thatcher therapy for all those able to vote.

2. Mel Gibson therapy. Who would have thought Alex Salmond’s great white standard bearer would turn out to be a wife beating, holocaust denying, anti-semite? He could have swayed the vote.

I don’t mind the Scots. But perhaps, they hate me because I’m English, but slightly less, because I have a northern accent. That’s the way it works. Anyone, further north is fine (except for Newcastle and football reasons), and any one further south slowly gains a sillier accent, and then becomes a tosser. Hey, I don’t make the rules.

The main thrust of the yes to independence campaign is that Scotland will become a more caring country without the English and their cold hearted right wing politics. The English, booooooo! After all, as the eleventh richest countries in the world, they can afford to be. Yes, the eleventh richest country in the WORLD. I don’t buy that. It’s like marrying in to a rich family, and then claiming to be rich. Perhaps, they’ll make the money on the divorce. “You can keep the nuclear subs base, but I’m keeping the pound!” And they are keeping the monarchy. After all, crowing a new king or queen now would look stupid. A little like independence with no fiscal control.

And what will happen to the Scotish Independance Party? What will be the point of them after a yes vote? Or for that matter, a no vote?

The yes campaign seem to have the idea that Scotland is a left wing country, and therefore, everyone will vote for a left wing Scotish government. That’s just not the case. There will be a political divide. And they will squabble, and then blame the English for everything that went wrong in the last 400 years!

Not counting words this time, but finished before I got stuck in to deep-fried pizza and North Sea oil!

Anyway, I have no medical excuse for my ‘U’ in English, but I’m sure a label would be found these days. Perhaps, I was more worried about going to hell, than failing exams.

Writing is good therapy and it’s taken my mind off a crappy day in the life of a travelling IT consultant.

Which may lead me on to another rant. When is a consultant a consultant, an agent an agent. That’s job titles that are just wrong.

See me next time (smiley face).