How Do I Say Goodbye To You? On The EU and Pitying Boris Johnson.
At last, I have a nickname, decided by an eight year old.
Feeling Sorry For Boris Johnson
After the General Election, as a way of coping with the result and what it meant, I found a way to feel genuinely sorry for Boris Johnson and told it to my Tory Voting friend.
That Boris and his rich privileged friends have had sheltered lives and may never have known the loveliness of being treated kindly by some poor person who has nothing for themselves, who has never known luxury or personal wealth, but continues to give and share what they have anyway (this had just happened to me in a charity shop in Bexhill-On-Sea before Christmas, it was profoundly touching). And how we are kind in return, and what a lovely way to live, how sad never to have had that, because they seem to act as though poor people baffle them at best and at worst, disgust them. Poor, deprived, privileged people. Who’d want to live like that, don’t you agree?
My friend did not agree, they was almost incandescent with rage and defended Boris Johnson vehemently and then left. According to them, Boris probably has a lot of joy from being rich and having rich friends, that we don’t know about.
It was very satisfying. Pity is such a terrible emotion, I can highly recommend directing it at the people you dislike. It feels less destructive than rage but is pleasingly mean, and you can do it calmly, as though you’re being considerate. Aren’t I horrible? To be fair, my friend had already told me that Boris Johnson is right, that mothers shouldn’t work and that single mothers are responsible for criminals existing, while they were in my home, being fed by me, a working mother. If they’d bought a tea cake with them, I might have been less antagonistic, but they arrived empty handed and insulted me. The twit. (Changed one letter there, in case my mum is reading this).
Here’s my doodle about the fact that Labours manifesto pledge to renationalise the railways, that was derided and rejected by the right, has now been implemented, just a month later, on one rail company at least. Hahahahaaha. Poor Boris and The One In A Top Hat.
Listening to music in other European languages and my gig in Brighton last weekend.
I’m listening to Mathieu Boogaerts right now, I want to be more European than ever, and Mathieu helps me with my French, I just haven’t told him. I noticed my driving licence has the EU flag with UK in the middle of it after my gig this weekend, the Bent Double comedy night at Brighton Komedia, run by the marvellous and brilliantly funny stand up Zoe Lyons. Zoe is one of my favourite stand ups in the world. I’ve been telling myself her jokes for a year now, and still laughing at the thought of them. In that way, she’s a bit like Laurel and Hardy.
Here’s a smashing song in French, performed by Rue 66, makes me want to dance and don’t you just love those Tricolore dresses? This is so groovy. Now I’ve just got to learn what they’re saying.
Also, this one by Françoise Hardy seemed apropos. I think it’s called ‘How do I say goodbye to you?’ (my translation but I might be slightly off).
Signing off. Best wishes, Pat Barker Of East Sussex.
Next time – a post in French.