Tuesday, February 20th
A quick note to myself (ever a would-be critic) to say that “Curse of the Demon” last night was rubbish, and M.R. James, whose story “Casting the Runes” the film was based on (much too loosely, if you ask me) would have been squirming in his grave.
I should do some laundry today. I have survived a week since my wife went to help out at her parents’ without having to resort to this, but I have run out of underpants, and driving into Stowmarket to get some fresh ones seems a little bit too decadent and not economically justifiable. I am not quite sure how the washing machine works, but how hard can it be?
Saturday, February 24th
Last evening GASSE (“Go Away! Stay Somewhere Else!”) – the group the Parish Council formed to resist the government’s rumoured plans to import a load of illegal foreigners and give them bunk beds in our village hall – met with a deputation of the village youth in the old cricket clubhouse to hear what they have to say about the illegals, and stop the boats, and human trafficking etc. because apparently they do not like GASSE and what it is for, and it turns out they would prefer CASHEW (“Come and Sleep Here – Everyone’s Welcome”), which all evening I was itching to say was “NUTS” but thought better of it. Anyhoo, I was too tired when I got home to write in my diary, so I have left it until this morning, when to be honest I am feeling a bit the worse for wear, because after the meeting we went to The Wheatsheaf, and some of those youngsters can really drink . . .
The evening could have got off to a better start, because nobody had thought to check if the lights in the clubhouse worked. As it happens, there is no electricity there at all, which has not bothered any of the community groups that have been meeting there in the daytimes, but it was quite a bit of a problem for us. Fortunately, Major “Teddy” Thomas came to the rescue, because he had a couple of camping lanterns in his jeep (I think he spends a lot of time outdoors re-enacting his army days when he helped to keep the peace on Salisbury Plain), and so we gathered quite cosily in their glow, and in a circle around the Calor gas heater.
I was not completely sure that all the youth there were actually from our village, but it did not seem like a good idea to suggest they show proof of identity, so I let it go. I have to admit that for some time I have rather scorned the younger generation, given that in our village their main occupation appears to be to hang around the War Memorial smoking cigarettes or vaping and casting the occasional dismissive glance and/or comment at passers-by. What is it about the youth, I thought, always taking what they think is the moral high ground and “dissing” their elders and betters? Have they taken a look at their “indie”, and their clothes, and their TikTok? But in the pub last week after the aborted meeting at the Shepherdsons’ summer house some of them had made what sounded, after a couple of pints of best bitter at least, like quite cogent arguments about why we should welcome the unfortunate foreigners and do something good and generous.
But cogent arguments can still be wrong, of course. Nancy Crowe, who seems to be their main spokesperson, told us again that we are being racist and xenophobic, and she seemed to know quite a bit about the European Convention on Human Rights – which is more than any of us can say, I think. She also said that she had spoken with our Member of Parliament (Spoken with him! How on earth did she manage that?) and she says he is on their side which, if true, only goes to show what a shifty, two-faced, untrustworthy bastard individual he is, because in the past he has always mumbled a vague kind of support for us, although I was never fully convinced.
Anyhoo, on the GASSE side, we argued that the hall was for community use, and that the village did not have the facilities to cope with the sudden importation of goodness knows how many unhappy foreigners in a foreign language, while the youth talked about human rights, and how it would be good for the village economy to have all these new people in it, which latter argument sounded a bit feeble, because these people are hardly likely to be big spenders at The Wheatsheaf or the village shop, which is basically what the village economy is. Will they even have any English money? They also proposed that we hold a village referendum on the matter so that the democratic views of everyone could be taken into account. The Major suggested we might combine it with seeing if people fancied taking the village back into the European Economic Community. I think he was joking, although he looked and sounded quite serious, and a little miffed when some people chuckled a bit, although none of the young people laughed. Someone, one of the young lads, also asked why nobody had also thought about putting some of the foreigners in the clubhouse we were in at that moment, because it is a pretty decent size, but John Garnham pointed out that it is not the most stable of buildings, being made mainly of wood and, perhaps, a few breezeblocks, and he said he could remember that even “back in the day”, when the cricket club still existed, in high winds it seemed to wobble a bit because it was not on particularly firm or reliable foundations, and sometimes it could feel like you were in a boat, and he did not think our potential visitors would like that one little bit.
However, the meeting had to wind up quite early without coming to any proper conclusions, because the lamps started to get dimmer, and one of them went out and, more importantly, the gas on the Calor heater ran out. Also a couple of the youth said they needed to go and get the last bus back to Stowmarket. I knew they were not all village children. So anyhoo, that’s when those of us that way inclined migrated to The Wheatsheaf, where the arguments discussion continued for a while until it morphed, as far as I can remember, into a debate about how music these days is not as good as the music was when we were younger, and neither is football. I do not remember the details. I do remember a young lady who said she liked my new beard, and that it made me look very distinguished. I am not sure I want to look distinguished. I prefer rugged. But I suppose a compliment is a compliment, especially when it comes from one of the fairer sex and they are not wearing spectacles.
James Henderson
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