Dungheads & pointlessness

I havent written here recently for a variety of reasons including a sense of pointlessness. I thought back nearly 20 years to when my employer decided to victimise me and another union activist for standing up for our colleagues' rights although those colleagues did precious little to help themselves. When this happened, those colleagues paused briefly in their endless asking “What has the union ever done for me?” to declare us both trouble makers who were getting what we deserved – the impetus to obedience driving them.

This morning I thought that I must write though because I read in the paper that young people are turning to the Tories because of their imposition of the bedroom tax. This was in The Guardian and wasnt some wet dream of the Daily Mail.

How could this be? I wondered. The answer would seem to be that those young people are Dungheads, like much of the rest of the population. In no way could one support the policy rationally – i.e. I challenge anyone to make the case. At best it would a demand to be given some of the action at the expense of others without doing anything oneself, like brats having tantrums.

But I am busy and a bit under the weather and was going to let it go. What is the point of writing that people are Dungheads when people are Dungheads?

And then I arrived at the cafe where I work, because it has wifi and where the official propaganda encourages you to work in a quiet atmosphere, to find a dune of shouting mothers and screaming babies occupying two thirds of the tables with electricity and blocking access to all the others with armoured personnel carriers.

I asked them politely to move these vehicles so I could get through and was just waved away. So I said they were selfish and moved a table out and clambered in. Tell him to fuck off, said one.

I worked. After a while one baby began screaming piercingly and was ignored, which is why presumably it was screaming; and I gave in and said For God's sake shut it up.

Trying and failing to be suave, the mother turned to me and told me to go to the library if I wanted quiet.

Clearly she has not been to the library. The library is full of screaming adults and children running riot. That's when it's open.

I said This place is supposed to be quiet.

No it isn't, she said, without hesitation.

So I was dealing with religion. To confirm that there was a mothers' knot of voices as various of them shouted at me their opinion. From what I could gather, which was little, most of them were not relevant to the exchange; but whenever has the believer made a pertinent reply to an objection? It was pointless to reply because their aim was not to reach agreement but to impose their will.

But of course I am wrong. I forget that there are only 7 billion of us, that there is empty cheap housing, places in schools and an abundance of open space. I forget that children are best socialised by being given no guidance.

In due course their attention gave out, they forgot what they were doing there, and they left, a few hurling insults as they left. It reminded me of trying to teach teenagers in school.

And then some business types arrived. I committed some of it to memory but the memory has turned to sludge. None of them were actually making anything or doing anything useful. It was all, as so often, the application of Onanism to administration.

The place is full of people with babies all inordinately proud of their achievement in reproducing, though flies can do that.

As Timon said, More Man. I may as well post it. Perhaps one of my enemies will read it and become so angry they have a heart attack.