Yesterday, at the small Town Hall opposite, the caretaker commenced the 'mounting of the cunting bunting' task. It involved putting Union Flags on the railings outside the building. Three hours later, there was not a single square inch of black railing that was not within a square inch if bunting. She excelled in her task of loopong and re-looping 2.4 miles of conjoined flags around the ironwork. Hanging a line of flags between building can look good and it creates a sense of celebration and an almost festival atmosphere - it's the idea of fucking bunting. Wrapping it round and round some railings three foot off the ground is not quite as effective! As she finished her task, the vicar of the church next door arrived with equal determination to do his bit. The side railing of the council entrance borders the small pathway to the church, and the entrance gate - also metalwork.
Mr Holy decided to adopt a dual approach (as opposed to a duel approach, challenging Mrs Caretaker) and go for a large Union Flag on each metal door, and in all other areas, bunting of the pennant variety. Yes, we had on view a long string of red, white and blue triangles wrapped around the arched metal gateway, the lampost, and on to the railings next door. Some triangles overlapped other triangles, just as flags overlapped flags. It is quite clear that the establishments had over-ordered. I have just posted something about this year's council tax, and I recall I am paying towards the building opposite, and so towards the cunting bunting. I am also paying for the landscape gardening; on Thursday, for about six hours, two blokes worked on a small area not much bigger than my fucking living room, doing fuck all.
With preparations like these, and a sea of red, white and blue to behold, it was this morning that all efforts would come to fruition. The dampness in the air gave way late morning to very light rain, but first thing it was dry, and noisy. From 9am, there was chatter from outside in the street loud enough to mimic school assembly when no teachers are around. I looked outside to see a rabble. Nothing was being done, there was no focus to anything, and the make-up of this throng was as diverse as jumble sitting on 24 trestle tables in a village hall - with a colour scheme to match. The main accomplishment of those present was to loiter in the purest sense. Vacant minds, idle chatter, vagueness of bodily movement, and absent intellect all coalesced into a mob of pointlessness.
I spotted a local ex-teacher dressed in a smock, apparently now one of the Vicar's helpers. If her attitude and views mirror those which she displayed in her dealings with children, then I suspected she'd be slagging off everyone, and possibly head-butting people and then kicking them when they're on their knees praying. There were, dotted everywhere, young people in camouflage, and a sea of cadets in white hats. For some reason, dozens of people in anoraks were watching, waiting for something to happen; nothing did. I went to get a newspaper, and negotiated the heaving mass of obesity that filled the side road.
Later, after everyone who was going to participate had disappeared, I discussed with Mrs MWSC what the criteria for particpation were. It seems to us that this 'event' was not for the people of the community at all. Not that I am envious in the slightest of the involvement of others - but I was not allowed to be included, and I live opposite the town hall, and the church, and in the centre of the supposed (alleged) 'community'! I think the problem lies in my failure to join a local organisation with a fucking compulsory uniform. If I were dressed like Eisenhower, Rommel or the Archduke Ferdinand (or even a Girl Guide) I would no doubt have gained automatic inclusion.
At just before 11am, daugher-in-law jumped out of her skin as we sat in the living room. "What's that?" She jumped up and looked out of the window, and I came to look as well. A police car had stopped diagonally across the main road, and we heard the sound of a band. It wasn't U2 or Dire Straits (although, come to think of it . . . . . maybe it was 'dire' . . .) but the local amalgamation of noise-making folk who like to dress up. The local drum-beaters (it's not pheasant shooting season for a while yet, so they're at a loose end) marched along, followed by a rabble. The 'parade' turned left, obviously deflected from the path it might have taken if the police car hadn't been in the way, and went past the steps of the Town Hall. The followers of the noise kept worse time than the rats probably did when following the pied piper in Hamelin. The ranks included some who'd forgotten their uniforms, so, the pretend soldiers marching in green camouflage were 'given away' by a few extras in their midst wearing white polo shirts. The Sea Cadets (who I believe have something to do with boats) were carrying machine guns even though most were not old enough to have a driving licence, and the soldier-types were each carrying nothing more threatening on their person than a bottle of coke, or a cigarette lighter. Around and about anyone who might claim to be legitimately involved in walking in a nearly-orderly fashion were numerous unauthorised walkers in Primark clothing (for best) and a few down-and-outs who keep charity shops in business.
D-I-L and I moved to the kitchen window, and saw the throng doing nothing in particular, outside the Town Hall. The parade had carried on, but fifty yards on, there's nowhere to go, so it in effect 'rebounded' and a mob formed. I have heard of 'Party in the Park' and other phrases that suggest glee and some fun, and some purpose. D-I-L and I witnessed 'Rabble in the Road'. After a while, and some dismay at how pointless some things are and some people's actions are, the human mass moved to the church. As if by magic, the side road was clear.
Mrs MWSC called me, excited by the weirdness of the view from the kitchen window. Yes, at midday, people were coming out of the church. In the road, outside the gates, were three religious figures in curtain material of a sandy colour, one with a mitre and staff. [They were not three wise men, although they did demand a "Why? Why? Why?"] Those filing through the gate were greeting the three unwise nobs and then doing a U-turn to go into the gate to the town hall. There were a few kids with face paint loitering in the fine rain, probably pleased they hadn't washed and that the paint had something to cling to. As the mini-chavs looked on, people oozed from the church past the three stooges, grinning, chatting and generally being impressed by nothing at all. I suspect that two fourteen year old girls in combats concentrating on texting are unlikely to participate much in the defence of the realm, but they endured the dressing up with a giggle. The uniforms and sashes and berets and hats suggested this was a convention of fancy dress enthusiasts. I saw what I thought was the Grim Reaper, and Nosferatu, but Mr Blobby was not present today. The self-congratulatory smugness filled the air as the annointed ones with gold chains around their necks mixed with clergy and toy soldiers who seem to have taken over from Cubs and Scouts. There were more feet shrouded in metal toe caps than people with any idea why the fuck they'd just spent an hour of their lives in a church. This whole thing seemed to be about doing something for the sake of it. Group up, march two hundred yards, go to church for an hour, and go home after a quick shuffle into and out of the Town Hall.
In the grim Town Hall, there were no doubt a few spam sandwiches providing a highlight and climax to the morning's exertions. How is this anything that could be mistaken for a celebration? How does it involve the community? What the fuck? This was the most non-inclusive fiasco that could have been dreamed up. I suspect it was a way of boosting church attendance figures, with a sandwich as a reward, using (targeting) local youth groups and their parents as fodder. That meant local councillors, a few police and some extra clergy were roped in to recognise the local efforts, as were a few older people who could dress up in a doctored Salvation Army uniform, using a curtain tassle to mimic some sort of Commonwealth uniform of which no one would dare challenge the authenticty. What I found remarkable was that I witnessed at least three hundred people associated with the goings on today - and not one of them was anything other than white. That is quite simply outrageous.
This farcical event was pointless. In a large town, with space and a way of offering something worthwhile to the community as a springboard to a more general celebration, this could have worked. Here, with no space, no community, no reason and no point, it defies logic. Unfortunately the 'Jubilation' that should have been linked to this sorry effort was missing completely. Imagine staging a Champions League football match at Whitby Town FC and you'll get a sense of the stupidity of this parade in such a location. The difference would be, though, that those lucky enough to see the game would be pleased.
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