Oh Dear.

Having watched a few videos of things going on in America over these last few days, I have had to have a bit of a rethink.  They are all utterly shocking.

 
Eight white Police Officers with their hands on their guns and two guns actually drawn, threatening a lone black man cleaning up litter on his own front garden with a bucket and a litter stick.

A white woman and a white man accusing a black man of writing Black Lives Matter on his own garden wall because they knew that this rather nice house didn’t belong to him.  The fact that it does was entirely irrelevant to them.  They were both lying to create hatred and quite possibly jealousy.

There are many others of a similar vein.  All deliberately designed to humiliate.
This to me is Racism and totally sickening.  Surely this doesn’t happen in Britain, does it?

There is nothing I can do about America and don’t even want to.  America will get it’s own cumuppence eventually.  And there isn’t anything I can do about Britain either.  But if someone treated a black man like that in my French Village then they would live to regret it.  And I wouldn’t be alone in my defence.  I did something similar once in defence of a young disabled woman and everybody came out to support me.

I actually feel sick.  And I shall be a bit more careful over what I have to say in future.

Racism.

I know with absolute certainty that I was not Racist Sixty odd years ago when I was about Sixteen or Twenty.  This was the time when The Windrush People arrived in London, much to everyone’s interest and my Dad said that London Transport would have collapsed without them.   My Dad wasn’t a Racist.  Although he was staunch Labour.  I was always a bit of a disappointment to him on that one.  I had the audacity to have ideas of my own.
And I joined The Wrens where coloured sailors were ordinary.  We worked together and sang together, mostly ghastly old and often rude Rugby Songs  and often in Glaswegian back street Pubs.  We were all Mates you see.  We served Her Majesty The Queen.  Although she was only Elizabeth the First of Scotland.  That didn’t half cause a bit of bother when some idiot erected Red Post Boxes marked ERII in Glasgow.
But am I Racist now?  I really don’t know anymore.  And nor do I care all that much.
I met a few coloured people in my travels, mostly from British Army Protectorates, but whenever I showed any interest in who they were I was accused of being patronising and since I have never gone out of my way to be insulted, I stopped speaking to them.  And never have since.
As for Baden Powell, I had completely forgotten that I was a Cub Mistress between the ages of 16 and 20 and what fun that was.  There wasn’t anything much else to do in Neasden at the time, other than falling off a Rope Swing into The River Brent.  I did that myself a couple of times.  Organising these small boys was such a pleasure to me.
And then there was my stepmother who was a Jewess.  She didn’t talk about it a lot.  She was much too afraid even years after The War was over.I now know that she wasn’t wrong.  But it was beyond my comprehension at the time.
However, she loathed The Welsh and The Irish of which I was half and half.  More bloody Racism.  This isn’t a problem peculiar to Black People, although they might think that they have got the franchise on this.  They haven’t.
I know too many white people who were driven out of Africa.
Because I always try to be honest, at least with myself, then Yes, I am almost certainly Racist these day.  No, I don’t even dislike Black People.  I am just fed up with them.
I am fed up with the fact that they always manage to jump The Housing Queue and get more help.  And I am fed up with them using The Race Card to holler and complain and shout Discrimination when clearly this isn’t true.
And I don’t care if no one ever reads My blog again.  Not many people do anyway.  I do this for my own pleasure.

Fish and Chips.

I was taken out to dinner in Guemene on Sunday. Mother’s Day or some such rubbish.

And we had Fish and Chips. For the first time in thirty years of living in France. How on earth have I managed?

It was okay. The Batter was excellent. I would have preferred Haddock to Cod but The French don’t really understand the niceties of English Peasant Food. Oh, and there was no Mushy Peas. But let’s not be too picky about this.

However, I did discover something vaguely interesting. This restaurant used to be a Butcher’s Shop and Living Quarters in the days of Napoleon. Interesting in itself that the present owner knows this, but then I always did need to know the ins and outs of the cat’s backside, so nothing new there.

Sorry, I forgot to ask which Napoleon, but I have rather given up on that one. None of them actually know.

We have Le Blavet down the road a bit and since Rivers are always Feminine I did wonder about this. But Le Blavet is a Canal. which explains that. Canals are Masculine. This was Canalised by Napoleon, although probably not personally, but they don’t know which Napoleon did that either.

The first Napoleon wasn’t Napoleon the First. I have at least managed to discover that. But he was the only one worth tuppence happeny. The rest of them rode on his back. Long Live Napoleon.

Rubbish.

Writing Rubbish.  Well, there’s enough  of that to write about at the moment.
Corona Virus.  Who knows what anyone is talking about?  For certain sure most of the pundits don’t.  If anything actually brought home Fake News to me then this is it.  So I am still in the dark and staying at home while that bunch of wankers decide what is best for Me.  I have already decided that they aren’t getting my Pension anytime soon.  Fortunately, I haven’t yet been relegated to a Care Home, otherwise I might be dead by now..  This is seriously not funny.

Harry and Meghan and The Tatler.  A ridiculous article that makes zero sense.  God help Journalism.  But trying to undermine The Duchess of Cambridge was not a good idea.

Meghan?  They can please themselves.  I thought she was lovely.  I have changed my mind somewhat.  Just don’t pull The Racist Card with me.  However, I do have to mention her hair which must cost a fortune.
These two should have a look at recent history and what happened to The Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

Just as a matter of interest, The Prince of Wales inherits The Duchy of Cornwall absolutely.  It is a private inheritance to whom The Duke of Windsor had no progeny.  So Prince Charles got it by default.  I know all too much about this because my husband of the time owned a lot of the Leases when The Duke of Windsor died and it cost my husband an arm and both legs to return these properties in good order.   Nothing wrong with that.  It is The Law.
However, I currently own The Freehold of a house which is in five flats.  And you all don’t want to know about the stress that this has caused me.  
The Leaseholders know best, and have By Law the right to decide.  Forget the last time they cocked it up.  But they are at least paying The Ground Rent this time and for the moment.  Such as it is.
It will all fall apart on the next occasion that the roof leaks and the smart arse who bought the Attic Flat can’t get them all to pay.  Ha Ha, not my problem.  The house can now fall down for all I care.  I own The Land.

What else is rubbish?  The Rotten Little Swine?  Nothing rubbish about him.  He is as smart as houses.

Okay.  George Floyd.  I didn’t really want to get involved in this.  It is just another Black Man who died at the hands of another White Policeman.  Although I seem to remember another black man dying recently at the hands of vigilantes.  This is America’s problem.
It won’t happen in Britain, unless Britain wants the wrath of Britain to descend.  Which it would.

To finish on a more ridiculous note.  How’s about Recycling?  I am currently paying The French State 250 Euros a year to cart this ghastly problem with Plastic half a mile down the road to Recycling Bins that are absolutely full at the moment.  But I have to separate this shit myself.
Until I was told that I must do this I didn’t have any idea of how awful Plastic is.  It’s a bloody good job that I have my son to do this for me and that he has my car to do it.
At 81 years of age I couldn’t do this myself on a regular basis.
I do remember some obscure old lady wheeling a wheel barrow full of empty bottles to the nearest bin, but whether or not that was to keep him comatosed is neither here nor there.  He quite likely beat her up if he wasn’t permanently pissed.
Plastic is a terrible problem.  But I can’t be asked to get really upset about this.  If my children’s children can’t see this then on their own heads.
Did I say this?
Any more rubbish?  Probably not.