Last week, in the Herald, a letter annoyed me. It was a request for help but put in a way which accuses the person being asked the question. It’s like if I complain about someone parking on double yellow lines, blocking the bus stop and the person replies with “Well, what do you want me to do?” It’s obvious. And annoying.
When people who know they’re in the wrong run out of arguments they resort to this sort of aggressive reply. It’s why I don’t bother saying anything when people are being totally inconsiderate. They’ll just put the blame on me.
Like the guy today on Twitter who said how annoyed he was because the queue at passport control in Amsterdam took 55 minutes to clear. He said it wasn’t the Brexit he voted for. Excuse my word of Indo-European root but he’s clearly a fucking idiot.
(It really irritates me when people say ‘Excuse my French’ then swear using a Germanic word. At what point in history did swearing equate with speaking French?)
Anyway, getting back to the letter in last week’s Herald.
I’ll say one thing for Alexine (great name, by the way) and that’s how concise and free of superfluous words the letter is. Quite often letters in the Herald go on for pages: reams sometimes. But Alexine knows how to make a point and walk away.
Short as it is, it made me angry. So angry that I logged on and dashed an email off to the Herald with my opinion of Alexine and the car parking problem.
Sadly my reply isn’t as short or concise but I was angry when I wrote it. Perhaps I should practice what I preach and write then think. Then read, then think, then amend accordingly once my mood has softened.
Still. I think it’s okay. And it made Mirinda laugh which is always satisfying and part of my job, after all.
Speaking of Mirinda, she headed off to Bath this morning after an Americano ala Chez Gaz and a short stroll about the grounds. I stunned her with my accurate knowledge of the names of some plants. I was quite amazed.
Of course, with Mirinda spending most of the day with Max (and Sophie and Tom and her ex-supervisor) I spent Valentine’s Day researching soldiers. And walking the dogs. I didn’t even go shopping.
Some years I pick something to say about Valentine’s Day and, given the fact that I spent it on my own, I don’t see why this year should be any different.
I was surprised to hear that St Valentine himself was not just the saint of courtly love but also of epilepsy. That’s a bit of a shit deal. It’s kind of like when a new government takes over after an election and the cabinet positions are divided out between your best mates. There’s always someone who gets the rubbish that no-one else wants.
(How does god justify having so many saints anyway? I thought he was all powerful, all seeing, all everything. Why does he need a bunch of lackies to do the work. Why do people have to pray to some bozo who knows nothing about courtly love in order to get a girlfriend?)
Anyway, yes, Valentine was the patron saint of epilepsy. I assume that means you pray to him if you have it rather than pray he gives it to someone you don’t like. Or maybe it’s both. I hear Catholics can be quite vindictive. Sometimes.
Oddly, there’s three of them. Saint Valentine of Rome, Saint Valentine of Terni and one from Ireland. I guess there was too much work for just the one. Too many hearts to match up. A simple human couldn’t possibly compete with Cupid’s arrow.
Of course the whole courtly love thing is stolen from the Roman lupercalia love letter game which I’ve written about before but the epilepsy thing has me baffled.
Newsflash: I’ve just discovered that some experts reckon the whole Valentine’s Day/courtly love thing was invented by Geoffrey Chaucer and St Valentine wasn’t Cupid at all. [GASP]
Anyway, that’s all I want to say about St Valentine (I, II & III). At least for this year.
