So the greatest wartime leader this country has known, now has to live in a wooden box because a handful of idiots say he was a racist. Of course, Winnie was a racist, he hated Nazis. Since when was that a sin? Robert The Bruce has now been daubed by like-minded buffoons because he was a racist king. Henry VIII cut his wife’s head off, twice. Imagine that! What about all those dreadful profiteers who made fortunes in the cotton mills or the mines. Should we be apologising to the whites who were so taken advantage of? As a priority the Government should be building a new gaol where these pathetic creatures can be permanently incarcerated with the keys deposited in The Thames. For heavens sake people, life used to be very tough; often hideously so. But that was then and largely because of that history we now have the most pampered, cared for, molly-coddled society it’s possible to imagine. It’s not perfect and of course things could always be better, but……
I always used to think woke was something I had done earlier. Typically it occurred somewhere between 3 and 8.30 am, the later the better for the most part. It’s a long time since I did English ‘A’ Level, but from memory it was the past tense of the verb ‘to wake’. Not being a member of the Social Media Society, it’s only fairly recently come onto my radar as being something different. I’ve largely managed to ignore it until now but with the current surge in ‘Offended.com’ activity, I had to check out exactly what it means. Apparently it’s being Politically Correct with bells on. I’m not yet clear whether it’s a noun or an adjective or both? Perhaps once I’ve had the operation, abused a few coloured people and taken the Mickey out of the LGBTQXYZ community I’ll have a better idea. Of course, I will do none of those things, merely hoping that I’m incarcerated in my own box before the world succumbs totally to all this madness.
Before I am, I will be able to enjoy something rather special. My own parents died when I was relatively young and I became part of a neighbouring family with whom I had grown up. When “mother” died she left me a painting that I had always loved and admired. It’s a beautiful old oil painting of Rydale in the Lake District. I had it cleaned but was a bit disappointed with the result and the frame did nothing for it, so after a few years I gave it to a recent acquaintance to clean it properly and reframe it. I had high hopes that it would come back looking quite different, but those expectations have been dramatically exceeded. Nigel Greaves is a very talented and experienced artist with his own gallery in Eastbourne and is well known in the region. I’ve got to know him over the last few months through visiting his gallery and joining the Rotary Club of which he is a longstanding member. The result of his efforts is stunning. An old painting (he thinks it was painted around 1750) has come dramatically back to life. It once again looks the way it must have done over 250 years ago. What a thrill! You could say it’s come alive…or woke.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 