(If this seems a very belated basket of observations it’s not because I have just been roused from a coma. I wrote this in March or something and there’s really not a lot of point it sitting on my computer wasting vowels and consonants. It’s quite long, which is why its split into parts. And bits of it could be cut out but haven’t been. Don’t thank me now.)
Only a creature with a heart as lifeless as a breast implant would deny the value of charity. As an act, a gesture, a thought, it is one of the fundamental thingies that make human beings that slightly bit more advanced than a feral pack of cannibalistic chimpanzees. Or the EDL. Just think back across the history of civilisation. Bloody hell we couldn’t even call it civilisation without the act of charity. I try not to think of charity as taking pity, we’re all pitiful in our own secret little ways, and let’s not forget we are evolutionary miracles and won’t last forever, so it would be very advisable to keep our egos in check. No, charity should really be seen as the act of recognising that we are sooooo lucky, some much more than others, and, within this framework that we may as well do a good thing once in a while.
The other day ‘the wife’ and I drove down to our local shopping centre/park/place/vision of hell on earth. We do this most weeks, usually on a Sunday morning and with the mission statement blaring in our heads to ‘stock up for the week’. I usually have a headache blaring too which can create a unique atmosphere, a wafer thin line of wobbling friction, which almost makes the whole experience worthwhile. Realistically however, the experience is usually torture (sorry ‘the wife’ it’s not you, it’s them). Despite my general hatred of the place, the mega Sainsbury’s is a bit like a second home for me and I will stop here most days to do my own kind of stocking up (like most I am a hypocrite in these small ways). This can mean a few bits of fruit and veg for sitting on the side of a plate being ignored then ultimately discarded. The rest of my purchases usually include some or all of the below:
- Crisps and nuts (which ‘the wife’ always complains about me buying, usually before, during and after chomping her way through most of them).
- Meat. I’m a carnivore and I like it that way. I’d even happily give horse meat a go. Panda and unicorn too.
- Tuna (healthy lunch concession item).
- Bread. Like meat, bread is an essential source of nutrients (see 1 and 9 also).
- Toilet roll, for wiping stuff.
- Kitchen roll, for wiping stuff unsuitable for wiping by 5.
- Washing stuff. I love having stocks of cleaning agents, not in an OCD way, just in a weird, loveable, being prepared way. Ok, in an OCD way then.
- Alcohol (or, on occasion, non-alcoholic beer depending on how much of the former has been consumed and the guilt level that has been reached, even then I’ll chuck in a couple of bottles just because you never know……)
There is one item I can’t put on that list for logistical reasons. It is ice. I love ice. I love cold drinks and ice comes in very handy with those. One of THE great sounds since time began is that of ice cracking under a splash of water, or gin, or 15 year old scotch, or….you get the idea. However in my galactically big Sainsbury’s it’s stuck right at the arse end of the shop, where you find the over-priced gluten free stuff, mineral water and those boxes of half-length Flakes for when you have an ice cream party. Or if you do the shopping for a clinically obese, house bound recluse who finds opening a real Flake both time consuming and sweat inducing. This being the case, I usually forget the ice, so when I go to our local Co-Op or smaller grocery outlet I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to find a bag of ice and grab it there should I not? But recently and especially last summer I found that the ice chillers were bare and I knew not why. Not just in small shops either but in every shop, including Ice’R’We. Then it hit me. Like a pillow case full of horse shit dropped from a street lamp onto my head. All the ice had been snapped up by the ‘ice bucket challenge’ bastards. ‘The wife’ had taken to showing me endless clips on youtube or nobbook of people we know (come to think of it, more often than not they were people I had never met in my life) having huge buckets of icy water emptied over them in the name of charity. The procedure is fairly simple and my most earnest apologies go out to any friends who have partaken, it’s not you, it’s IT!
- Someone’s iPhone/iPad camera focuses in on a twat sitting on a chair, in the back garden. This is the most sensible location to conduct the ice bucket challenge. Personally I would much prefer for the people to be in a bathtub full of switched on electrical goods. And rattlesnakes. The recording device is more often than not an Apple item, whether there is a correlation between Apple lovers and someone being a bell-end is almost beyond doubt. My ‘the wife’ has several such devices but I have to compromise as I still value my testes. Wait till I’m 86 and don’t care anymore darling.
- ‘Hi, this is Darth here’
(I’m going to use a fictional name as I believe it is wrong to offend people through the medium of words)
‘I’m here to be smug and also to do the ice bucket challenge.’
(Darth will suddenly be surrounded by a gaggle of grinning, giggling little pricks and his wife/life partner, who will be trying to look slightly more serious)
‘We’re trying to raise money for the provision of mental health care for the families of hedgehogs who have been hit crossing the M11. Or for Closeted Undertakers with Leprosy… etc etc. I’d also like to pass the challenge onto…….’.
And then they will name and nominate 4 other people who they think will find it a hilarious but worthwhile ‘challenge’.
G B Hewitt 21.11.2015