Yet another Telegraph article. Hilary and I are addicted to riot news. I have a private game in which I judge which journalist has managed to mention race just enough but not too much. It's a learned skill, really. You want to tell the truth, and also you don't want to sound like a jerk.
I think the Telegraph journos are playing up the brave Sikhs and Turks over the brave English because they feel bad for having mentioned how many black faces they saw among the rioters. On the news clips, the Sikhs stood tall, and they looked proud and reassuring with their sticks and swords. However, on other news clips, we saw gangs of vigilante English being kettled by ... Oh, it's all so depressing.
Anyway, at the end of the day it's all about culture, and the kind of culture you have when you don't have a father at home and your mother is too tired or feckless to care where you are.
My nephew--whose father is a white Caribbean, incidentally,--has no father at home, and so I often worry about him. On the other hand, B.A. didn't have a father at home, and he turned out fine. However, he did have a grandfather at home. Great-grandmother, grandmother, grandfather and mother chivvied him from pillar to post telling him to talk proper, etc., and then he got religion on top of being intensely sweet-tempered anyway. Fatherlessness does not necessarily lead to moronic barbarianism.
But here is the latest best article about the whole darn mess.
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2 comments:
My auter adult has bin sehing for dais that I must not boser you, but then, she has djust indulscht me with a truh Inner Tschilts short holliday, so wat kan she expekkt? Theirfor: I think that you stehing with sick Hillary is a rielly gud thing, but as as jet you hav not rett her any Bodis Riper (and you PROMISST you wudd!!). So stopp lissening to / reeding all this stuff abaut Ryots and write another instalment pleese pleese.
P.S. My auter adult sais efen if the world ents we may as well be amused wile it does so, but than I do not share her zynism and sus find this autragos.
P.P.S. Still, more Bodis Riper.
P.P.P.S. Pleese!!
The problem is that the Inner Child arrived in Italy with a sort of incredulous joy all over her face and then began to run amok, leaving me to do all the cooking, washing, pushing Hilary in the wheelchair, learning vocabulary, etc. She spends all day in the sea or on the beach and only turns up to demand gelato, which she always gets. I suggested to her that she write an installment of "Bodice Ripper", but she only laughed and asked if the Notting Hill money had come in yet and if she was going to get an It bag any time soon.
So we will see.
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