Most folk know that Christmas can be something of a magnifier for things that are otherwise dormant for months and years. As people desperately rush around trying to prepare, tempers fray and frustration builds - and for what exactly? The shops are heaving with people manically pawing at goods, wondering if they'll be adequate enough to sate the seemingly desperate needs of family and friends. Cards are placed reverently on the desks of work colleagues who under normal circumstance wouldn't be pissed on if they were on fire while family members you detest are welcomed with open arms even although it'll be more moan moan moan than ho ho ho.
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| I feel queasy. |
Meanwhile, round the giant fibre optic Christmas tree, children's faces glow with the expectation of material gain while parents fret over the payday loan they had to take to finance it all. Later, when they've finished scraping the kids of the ceiling, they'll weep silently into the small print and wonder how the actual fuck they ended up this way.
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| Oh my... I feel... Uurgh... |
At least they have the dubious pleasure of having kids and company on this the most glorious day of the year for there are thousands who'll be sitting in alone also wondering how the fuck they ended up that way. With little to look forward to except a ready meal for one and a constant barrage of American made-for-TV feel-good schmaltz delivered by unbearably cocky shiny-faced robot children and their pastel-shaded adult minders. Sitting with the lights off while a kaleidoscope of TV colour plays across that third bottle of wine they promised themselves -because no other bugger is there - they wouldn't open.
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| Ah Christmas, its here again... |
Anyway, I digress.
That last gasp of madness takes the form of this.
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| From the Edinburgh Evening News. |
Just so we all know where we stand with this; I don't really care about flags - but I do care about hypocrisy & double standards; plus, who doesn't like highlighting a spot of good old fashioned fuckwittery from time to time.
Those two flags have prosaically flown above Dunbar Town House for the past seven years and no one gave a toss - the purpose was and presumably still is to symbolise a well remembered link between the town and its most famous son (John Muir) who moved to America and persuaded presidents there to create the US National Parks service in order to preserve wild spaces.
But hold on, community council member Gill Wilson backed the decision to swap the Saltire out with a Union Flag - she lectured:
“So much has been said about whether we should fly the Scottish flag or the Union flag that really I could write a book about it.
“I’m English and I feel the Union flag should fly because we haven’t separated. There wasn't a Yes vote in the referendum."
Presumably mistaking the referendum result as a dissolution of the country known as Scotland, she went on to sputter:
“It’s just so petty, it’s really not funny. It’s political, and community councils shouldn't be political.”
Hud the bus Gill; you're the one backing the change. The flags have been up there for years and no bugger said a thing about it until presumably you or someone like you decided the No vote meant you could be a colonist instead of a settler.
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| John Muir as a boy on Dunbar High Street - although not literally you understand; that's a statue. |
It would be easy to become quite exercised by this, but you know how town councils are. You get one or two good people who genuinely care about the community, then you get those who are guilted or press-ganged into attending. Then you have the person my Mum always describes with the words; thurs' aeways yin.*
This person hides behind the mantra 'I'm doing it for the community' when what they really mean is 'doing it for the kudos'. A pain-in-the-arse jobsworth who is unable to tell the difference between selflessness and selfishness - someone who after only minutes spent in their company you realise is a complete nutter. Everyone thinks this person is an arsehole, at each meeting they all hope this will be the gathering were someone snaps and tells this one hated individual to fuck off.
I should say, I'm not suggesting Gill Wilson is that person, nope, not for a second.
Its also a bit moot, anyone familiar with Dunbar has to know a Union Flag won't last long - not because its a hotbed of nationalism mind but because there are several pubs along the High Street. Those hostelries will no doubt be well used at this most festive time of year - possibly by persons black-mailed in to attending town council meetings - forced to listen to that one arsehole droning on about the font used for the meeting's agenda and who always has an infinite supply of A.O.B.
Going back to the original digression, while its true to say I'm no fan of Christmas, I hope yours goes well. Its been a hell of a year and I hope for more fun & games in 2015. There might be another blog before New Year (I know, try to contain yourself) but it really depends on whether I open that fourth bottle of wine - I might need another ready meal for one to cushion the alcoholic blow...
* If anyone knows how to spell that, let me know - I could find no written record of the phrase.
