Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 30 December 2015
Us as seen by them
It was very stormy last night, in more ways than one.
Lying in bed, listening to the windows rattle at the same time as listening a shipping forecast so dire, that there was an advance warning about it so as not to shock any land-locked listeners.
"Gale force 8, storm force 10, violent storm force 11, hurricane force 12..." The Christmas lights would have flown away were they not tethered to the building. It has been blowing and raining for about 2 months. It's getting a bit boring.
I was accused of displaying Tourette's syndrome by my only follower on Facebook last night, so I have decided to call it a day and never go back. I have already accused myself of this many times in the past in order to justify my unthinking and somewhat - no, very - rude schoolboy humour when I blurt out reactions to things which I think are funny, but many don't seem to share this opinion. I take childish pride in my speed of reaction, but this comes at the expense of not thinking things through.
This bloke on Facebook is exactly the same age as me and has a quite extreme form of OCD, to the extent that nothing is done in his working world without the use of an alarm clock. He, as I was, is surrounded by a load of youthful hedonists in the world of social media, but he - unlike me - seems to be blissfully unaware of his irrelevance to them. We were both tolerated by them, but he could not tolerate me and prefers - unlike me - to be humoured by them. At least I deliberately lose my dignity.
There is, according to him, a right way of doing things and a wrong way of doing things, and the way he does them is always right, even if it is wrong. He has often told me that I am not doing something right in my work, even though he has no experience of it other than having watched other people during his 64 years on this planet.
There is also a right time for doing things (such as two minutes past five as set on the clock of his phone) and a wrong time, and any disruption to his timetable or schedule throws him into utter mental anguish. A misplaced chair or a rug which is two degrees out of square to the wall produces such an unsettling feeling within him that he cannot rest until the situation has been remedied.
A month or so ago, some bastard hi-jacked my account and posted up pornographic photos which I could not see until I went to someone else's site. I asked for advice as to what to do about it, and he replied by saying that I should make a public apology.
Well you can only imagine how he reacts to my particular brand of expletive-ridden humour in a public arena. I even disappoint myself a lot of the time.
I cannot decide if I get too involved, or not involved enough. I would ask your advice about this, but every time I do, I get instructions from some people in the guise of advice. I'm fine at taking orders in the working world, but not in the social one.
It has gone almost as dark as night outside, and soon I will go out and try to use 240 volt power-tools under a flimsy canopy under which the rain will be horizontally blowing. At least it will keep the dust down.