My mood is somewhat morose, so apologies if today’s missive is devoid of humour. According to The Times yesterday, nearby Bexhill on Sea has more charity shops per head of population than any other town in England and Eastbourne (my new hometown) is in the top five. Does this mean that we are particularly charitable people, or so broke that the only shopping we can afford is that available at Oxfam and Dr Barnados? Or does it mean that we are an unusually diverse society? For charity shops to flourish presumably it needs quite a lot of reasonably well off souls to provide the raw materials for quite a lot of the less fortunate to go and buy from the bargain basement? I guess that probably does describe Eastbourne, with conspicuous wealth interspersed with tragic homelessness and poverty. When I was growing up in the post-war harshness of Fifties Britain, I can’t remember seeing a single beggar on the street or helpless and homeless people camping in shop doorways. Now it seems to be a common sight in practically every town. Where have we gone wrong. I’ve been touched in the last few days that both my (teenage-ish) children have given their own money and food to such folk, totally of their own volition and without prompting from me. Perhaps there is yet hope in our self-centred, materialistic, class conscious, money grabbing world.
With the Grumpmeter (GM) very firmly in the red zone and the humour-well almost dry, I must turn to my gorgeous eleven year old daughter for help. She and friends were laughing hysterically, in a slightly self-conscious manner, at something on a friend’s iPhone as we drove home from hockey. From the odd word I caught, it sounded a bit suspect, but they said “no, it’s ok, it’s Scottish Peppa Pig”….as if Scotland made it both strange and acceptable. (As I contemplate my navel I wonder if that’s a good description of Scotland?) I then heard the odd ‘F’ word and realised that it was something totally inappropriate. It transpired that it had been posted by an unnamed friend on some communal site on some unhelpful ‘social media’ outlet. All of which is, of course, totally unfunny and so any last vestige of humour flows down the plughole and I am forced to retire into my boots and fire through the laceholes.
I remain confident that a new week will bring great good humour and not a little cheer. It is the 13th…..
ADayInTheStrifeOf 