Anyway, there I was just Tuesday past walking along in a reverie contemplating the crumbling moon in the sky called the moon and what may lie beneath. It was that episode of Doctor Who Kill The Moon and the horrible spider infestation that troubled me. The moon being an egg I could take but the thought of it swarming with arachnid bacteria...I thought a huge Racnoss Queen was going to hatch. Then suddenly I found myself being verbally abused by three drunken fellows in a loose ensemble of sports casuals. They were bumping off each other and holding each other up and raving like three mad crows from an old Disney cartoon. Although Uncle Remus never told stories about this carrion company. The Song Of The South has a completely different meaning in Northern Ireland.
JAYSUS WILL YE LOOK AT HIM!
HES ONE OF THEM EKSENTRICKS!
HERE MATE SELL US YER TROUSERS!
They actually followed me into a second hand charity bookshop. I was mortified and tried to feign indifference by being absorbed in a book about the history of The Queen's Household Cavalry when really I just wanted to be anywhere but being serenaded by this Greek Chorus of naysayers. They were asked to leave the store which they drunkenly did all the while acting all put upon and obviously the victims in this scenario. Is it sheer arrogance to believe one may walk the streets unmolested? After all a spide gotta slag or burst...
WHAT DID WE DO BASHARDS?
I am no longer the fiery young buck ready to fight the world for the right to wear a bowler hat with a kilt and bondage trousers. These days I will may wear a bow tie with no sense of irony and cannot fathom why anyone would feel inflamed by the sight of such a sartorial choice. Not so much a red flag to a bull as a penguin paperback being used to beat out a malicious fire.
Someone I knew to determined to defeat their enemies by being better dressed than them. I think this an ultimately futile gesture as one can only ever really be differently dressed than them. As anyone who has ever being given a kicking by Mods can testify. Oh yes, I remember racing across the patio next to the art college being chased by some angry young men in the most amazing ace face suits and parkas. The kicking hurts as much. A rose by any other name blahdey-blah...The peasants are no longer revolting they are reality television stars. It is strange but the faces I saw growling at me the other day are the basically the same faces I have been listening to growl forever. I suppose the sports casuals change color but the spide remains the same..
Ah well although it is a battle I never chose there are worse ones to fight.
This will never end. Certainly not in my lifetime.
For they are spides and their number is Legion.
