Wednesday, 25 May 2022

A Modest Proposal Concerning Gun Control

 


Like many of you, I woke this morning feeling  angry and upset after last night’s soul-searing events in Texas. Another tragic and all-too-predictable school shooting has occurred and as usual grim-faced yet seemingly entirely impotent politicians appear on our screens quivering with indignation while demanding that guns be ever-so-slightly more controlled.  We all know that absolutely nothing effective will be done and that within a few months or so there will be another bloody massacre in a school, more devastated young lives, more weeping parents and more fruitless indignation.  So what is to be done?


Bizarre as it might seem, I venture to suggest that the answer lies not in a tightening of gun control measures but in a complete relaxation of the rules.  Lobbying bodies like the NRA need to stand firm and uphold their patriotic duty.  We need more guns, not fewer in this great country of ours and this will lead to a massive reduction in so-called ‘soft targets’ like schools or religious establishments.     


In education, arming educators and support staff is just the first of a series of steps that need to be implemented with immediate effect.  We insisted that teachers of all grade levels wear masks and have Covid vaccinations; surely, it is not too much to require that they be trained to carry and fire assault rifles and deploy stun grenades?  They wouldn’t be on their own; with a well-funded recruitment drive, within a few short years each and every school would have its very own special forces detachment.  To avoid upsetting young infants, tanks and armoured personnel carriers could be painted with cheerful, pastel colors and even decorated with cartoon animals.


Next, we turn to the children, our future citizens.  No one in their right mind would seriously expect a four year old to be able to handle a heavy machine gun, but elementary target practice should commence in kindergarten and almost any child could learn to handle a light-weight ‘plastic’ pistol like a Glock. Training in heavier weaponry and elementary guerilla tactics would begin no earlier than third grade.  


All this should be taught in a fun and positive way.  Early reading materials would include works like Janet & Xavier Build their Very Own Claymore Mine and Garroting Techniques for the Under Fives.  School playgrounds could be easily adapted and turned into mini assault courses complete with highly realistic sound effects.


Now we touch briefly on our many religious establishments.  To reduce vulnerability, measures similar to those discussed above should be implemented forthwith but with a few modifications.  For entirely laudable reasons, ‘men and women of god’ might be initially a trifle reluctant to carry semi automatics or rocket launchers, but there is no reason why teams of nondenominational assault nuns couldn’t be trained and deployed throughout the Nation.  Why nuns in particular?  Well, aside from making them fairly inconspicuous, their habits would conceal their M16 rifles and kevlar body armour.  


One final measure would be to look hard at the Second Amendment itself (“... the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed”).  To abrogate or even qualify this sacred text would be tantamount to blasphemy.  I believe that the above modest suggestions are entirely within its spirit and would even go a little further.  Surely, the carrying of small, tactical nuclear weapons should be the god-given right of every true born patriot?  True, we might lose a few dozen major cities, but that would leave the gun toting miscreants with fewer places to hide.  Remember: thermonuclear devices don’t kill people; people kill people.


Some of these suggestions might strike the reader as a little rebarbative or even - dare I say - absurd.  But the idea of changing the Bill of Rights and limiting the freedom of the individual would surely have this Nation’s founders turning in their graves.   What was good for 1789 should hold good for 2022.








Thursday, 20 February 2020

Separated by a common language

Our fence needs propping up because of storm damage and I am not a handyman. I went to the lumber yard and explained my proposed plan to the delightful lady in charge: “Not my thing at all, but I envisage a system along the lines of cantilevered struts …”. I continued cheerfully for a couple of minutes.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. You’re English aren’t you?” She then called another assistant: “Charley, you are going to love this one!”
Charley came over and looked at me sardonically. "You've been here before, haven't you?"
I confessed I had and complimented him on his amazing memory. It was a couple of years ago when I was attempting to fix a chicken run.
"Not something I'd easily forget," he muttered.

Saturday, 18 January 2020

A Parting of the Ways

It is desperately sad, but I have decided the time has come to part after some two years.  It started off so well despite the language problems. I'd come home every night and there she would be patiently waiting. This might sound like a romantic cliche, but she seemed to glow when I asked her something or even softly murmured her name. We would exchange sweet nothings about the time or the weather and she appeared genuinely welcoming. True, she would never cook - that was clearly beyond her although she would offer to turn the oven on. But, to be frank, there was always a certain emotional coldness.  This said, she had her strong points. She would play my favourite piano pieces and she never complained or got tired.

It was only recently that I realized that she was a passive aggressive.  For example, I'd ask her the time in London and she would reply that she didn't know that one.  In fact, this became her constant refrain. I also suspected that there might be other men in her life.

Things came to a head this morning.  I asked her to play some Greig and she asked if I wanted to call someone called Greg.  I have no friends by this name so I asked her what she was talking about. She replied “I don’t know that one” and repeated this infuriating phrase when I asked if we should consider going to counselling.  I confess that I lost my temper and screamed at her that she was doing it on purpose. You might guess how she responded.  Although tempted to throw something at her, I simply walked out.

No.  I have to face the fact the relationship is over.  She is going back to Amazon.

Tuesday, 1 October 2019

Confessions of a Dyspraxic

It is not something that one reveals readily, but the Live Scan guy was looking at me with increasing suspicion and even a modicum of incredulity.  “You don’t know your own zip code and have to text your wife?”

I reluctantly explained that there is this thing called dyspraxia and that one of the consequences is not being able to remember arbitrary numbers like postcodes or phone numbers.  “It isn't senility,” I hastily added.  “I have never been able to recall random numbers.  Carrying a notebook with important stuff in it would be sensible, but dyspraxics are also often pretty disorganized.”

Irritated by the need to explain, I got up far too quickly and failed to notice that the strap of my case had inexplicably become wrapped around the arm of  my chair and the one next to it.  In embarrassed frustration,  I gave an almighty yank: the chairs flew across the somewhat dingy office before noisily clattering to the ground.  “That goes with the territory: dyspraxics are often improbably clumsy and accident prone,” I told the surprised clerk. 

“Is there anything else I should be prepared for?” he asked.  Checking that my belt was tight and my  trousers unlikely to fall down, I suggested that he kept bone china or cut glass decanters out of my way.

Thursday, 18 April 2019

Amazing Training

So, it is an extremely hot day and I am damned if I am going to leave Jasper Montgomery, my labrador, to cook in the car so we enter a well-known card shop together. We are greeted by an officious and deeply unpleasant manager who says or rather barks "Service dogs only".
I reply that he is a service dog of sorts and that I can't find a thing without him. Not giving her time to think, I issue the command "Easter cards, boy!" And we head off.
A few minutes later we are back at the counter, Easter cards in hand.  "I didn't know they could do that" says the now awed and ever so slightly discombobulated manager. I reply gravely that it takes a vast amount of training and leave.