Scottish Field’s online columnist Brash McKelvie on the moans and groans of every day life .
Here are the cast of characters that share the vicissitudes of life:
Scragend – a Rhode Island Red of indeterminate age and foul nature.
Shitting Cat – does exactly what it says on the tin.
The Beloved – a paragon of virtue and a self-appointed critic of most of my thoughts and actions.
Snr and Jnr Orifice – our fledged offspring.
Has it got any blacker than this? Brexit, Broken Britain, feral parliamentarians, terror alerts, foodbanks, lotto millionaires (that’s just sour grapes you understand), struggling NHS. Well yes, actually it has.
We are not falling down with rosy posy plague for a start, not currently battering seven bells of hell out of our neighbouring country – or indeed half a globe away.
Not dropping the pitchfork to have a skirmish with our cousins across the valley on the say so of some jumped up feudal lord. The same feudal lord who will exercise his droit de seigneur at the drop of a hat, even though the damn thing should have been kept chained up in a darkened pen.
It has also been colder, and hotter, and though it might be hard to believe it could ever have been wetter – I bet you it has.
‘Changes must be made’ and ‘something has to be done about it’ and even ‘ this is a terrible situation and action must be taken’ – all genuine soundbites from the media and all nice and generic, non-specific levelling of accusations at, well somebody’s shoulders, just not at whose specifically, to instigate action.
We are a nation of complainers, but in a gentle manner, in an almost apologetic way and when faced up about the nature of our complaint we retreat into self-effacing humour.
‘Oh, it’s probably me that doesn’t know how to work this wind-up clock – I’m so bad with technology’. Followed by usual grovelling nonsense of Haha, lol, smiley face emoticon etc.
For heaven’s sake man up, If you are going to complain make it sure and short and do not apologise for the fact that you have a problem paying for shoddy goods/service/inedible food – actually on that last front NEVER complain that the food is underdone and will be acceptable on further cooking – you may see this as constructive criticism, but the kitchen of the establishment you are dining in may see it as an opportunity to use your undercooked steak as a floor mop before cremating it to your liking.
Needless to say my family adore coming shopping/dining with me – watch them all throw themselves at other appointments/meetings with the same gay abandon as witnessed when lemmings are faced with a cliff – rather than have a day out with the dear old parental.
I was mulling this over in my wooden sanctuary, assisted by the slight snoring of Scragend from the depths of the armchair – I have been relegated to an up turned tattie basket – when a delivery driver pulled in with a much anticipated parcel.
‘Sign here’ was the request, then I noticed that the parcel was badly crumpled and I stated firmly and authoritatively that I would not ‘sign here’ until I had seen if the contents had suffered any kind of damage. ‘Yeah, OK. Whatever’ said the King of the Road and he just hopped back in his van and drove off.
Maybe that is why we are a nation of resentful tolerators as opposed to efficient complainers. We simply cannot bear the potential humiliation of being ignored.
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