Another day, another why-oh-why post from me.

Second male child was ill Friday past, so didn’t come with me to our weekly pain, torture and be-kicked-about session in Haverhill. (Which, incidentally, seems to be drape birthday notices over road bridge central. Maybe I will take my camera with me next week.) This meant I listened to the radio on the way home. Normally it would be the CD, but for some reason, probably moral outrage, I decided to put myself through more torture, that of Statist media political debate.

Any Questions. Or, Everyone repeat that The State is Good For Us. Seriously, it was very much promoting that we should Leave It To The State, and not bother our pretty little heads about any of this thinking for ourselves business. We all need protected from ourselves, we need to be told how to behave, think and go about our daily lives. The panel, and the audience, murmured in contented agreement with every Big GUVMINT idea. There was no dissent. I despair that all non-Left-of-any-kind thought has gone from our political discourse. No promotion that, gasp, we should be responsible for ourselves, and there should be minimum intrusion from The State. Where have all the libertarians (I will concede of all ilks, even those fake ones who believe somewhat in central planning, as at least they aren’t totally grotty socialistic misanthropes) gone? Conspiracy to keep them off the air? Meh, has been ever thus.

Now, if I was clever, witty and a good writer, I could segue that into my next piece. But I amn’t, so won’t. I blunder on regardless.

Then I heard a somewhat sermon on John 8:1-11 (I leave that in English, natch.) Now, my initial thoughts on that hark back to a story of my youth. Bear with me on this one, as the passage will become relevant. I tell the tale first, though.

I must have been, oh, thirteen or so, maybe slightly less, as it would have been early into my stint in Big School. There was the usual circle of noisy children, which in the playground, can only signify one thing. A fight was being had. There were two bigger lads, circling each other, snarling and swearing at each other. Nothing unusal there, happened all the time. For some reason, unknown to me at this later date, I asked as to the cause of the ruckus. (Most times I didn’t care, shrugged my shoulders and wandered off, not joining in the catcalls and pupil barrier that shielded the violence from the teacher on playground duty.)

It seemed the reason for the fight was female. Not in a two-timing way, more than one fellow was dumped in favour of the other, and didn’t take kindly to this. I am sure it happens all the time, all over the world. But my thoughts went like this: Meh, she has made her choice, why the fight?

A proto-individualist even then. (Of course, hence the use of proto-. Duh.) And I never understood the reasoning for such fights. What is the point? Minds made up. Decisions made. Maybe because I don’t believe in coercion. Maybe because I believe people should be free to made their own choices. A pointless fight.

Which brings me back to the adulteress. She made her choice of whom to be caught in the act with. As did the bloke. Why wasn’t he hauled up? (Oh, the inherent patriarchal oppression, sister. I ignore that part, it isn’t relevant to my current point.) Again, choices had been made, what is the point of the stoning? (Are there any wimmin present?) Society takes precedence over who people decide to sleep with? I am aware that the social mores would mean the wronged wife just couldn’t strike out on her own, but again, that isn’t what I am driving at. Or am trying not to drive at, and not spiral my text out into wider and wider areas.

If you have three people, and two of them choose each other, why the fight from the other? If a mind has changed, if a heart has been set against, then there is no turning back from that. And fighting someone for it won’t help the situation. (Unless it is a cat fight a la From Russia With Love. Hubba hubba. Although I am aware even that was different again. But surely the head gypsy’s son should have made his choice. Although, make choice or watch two hawt chicks fight. I see his point.)

Does that mean I wouldn’t fight in similar situations? Well, I doubt a few angle kicks to break someone’s leg would change minds. (And don’t think there aren’t situations where I would fight. I sure would. So much so, I am entered into a fighting competition. More on that after it happens.) People are allowed to think, and believe, what they want. Without me, or The State, or anyone else telling them. Sure, you can persuade, but our thoughts belong to us. And if we think the wrongs ones, what of it? Isn’t that our own lookout?

Moving on, in case I am starting to look a bit heartless.

People, please note: blessed ne bless├Ęd.

Lastly, considering this is a post-of-length, while walking mental, artless, graceless and stubborn puppy dog last night, I happened upon an open air service on Whittlesford rec. (Gah, I hate the term ‘rec’. How very Engerlish.) I could see them from afar, full brass band, choir and everything. However, I didn’t recognise anything they were playing. On getting close, I got the lyrics of their current tune. It was How Great Thou Art. But what on earth was going on? It was a calypso version. Wrong? You have no idea. A bunch of middleclass English trying to swing it like it was a balmy night in Kingston (Jamaica, not Upon-Thames.) Can I count the ways it was wrong? Yes. All wrong.

Why is everything wrong? Can’t just be me, can it?

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