Was it not W C Fields who said (and if he didn’t who cares) that anyone who hates dogs and children can’t be all bad?
Live where I live and you will see and hear living evidence that the Great Man was expressing a universal truth rather than a bitter personal opinion.
I have written before of my disgust for the predilection of Spaniards for various forms of supine rat-dogs which they (mistakenly) think fit well in a flat. These repulsive genetic scrapings of in-breeding; these caricatures of an noble animal descended from a wolf; these rickety pieces of fluff on spindly legs belie their size when their ‘territory’ is invaded by more respectable mammals and they give voice to their incessant and penetrating yipe – the perverted version of the wolf’s howl.
We are surrounded by a whole kindergarten of canine children substitutes and when one starts its inane parody of a bark then the whole grotesque zoo of shadow dogs add their high pitched irritation to the general cacophony.
There are two spaniel-like creatures at the end of our street who manage to produce a sort of twisted bark which is a mixture of squeal and scream. I have seen these two aged, bleary, sleep filled eyed plodders and the only reason they make any sound at all is that they are secure behind the firm bars of their garden gate.
One longs to hear a full throated bark which indicates that it is being produced by a real dog like, for example, a Labrador – but such animals seem too large and macho for a nation which prides itself on its masculinity. To hell with all of the precious rat-dog owners: they are pathetic and inconsiderate and should be fined for each high pitched yelp their pampered rats emit.
And then the children.
There are other quotations by W C Fields about children which are amusing but are something which a teacher can only take a guilty pleasure when laughing at them. To be a teacher is to care for kids. But to care for them in their place: in a professional situation in a school.
I see enough of kids in my professional life to want to see more of them in my home environment.
In my experience Spanish children are spoiled to a ridiculous extent. Virtually anything they do is excused – not only excused but admired and applauded. Their behaviour in public places is appalling, as indeed is that of their parents as they ignore or encourage a level of behaviour which would have had me publically executed by my weeping parents if I had even remotely approached the standards of depravity that Spanish children inhabit.
Not only are we surrounded by children of various ages but I suspect that, in a terrible twist of fate, I have rented a house oppose a nursery school!
As children find it impossible to communicate in anything less than a scream you can imagine my chagrin during a normal day in the holidays! The adolescent next door: a charming young lady with a string of repulsive pseudo-macho hangers on spends most of her day laughing that piercingly false laugh which is bread and butter to the soul of the budding male.
As they spend most of their time around the pool smoking cigarettes I think bloody thoughts and present a positively Buddha-like calm from the upholstered luxury of my new chair.
I will need that mystic calm for tomorrow when I go (again, oh god, again) to IKEA to buy yet more Billy Bookcases. These will be the apocalyptic bookcases as they represent the final number of shelves for whatever books remain in Bluespace. These are indeed the Final Days when the Books Will Be Counted.
Give me strength!
Live where I live and you will see and hear living evidence that the Great Man was expressing a universal truth rather than a bitter personal opinion.
I have written before of my disgust for the predilection of Spaniards for various forms of supine rat-dogs which they (mistakenly) think fit well in a flat. These repulsive genetic scrapings of in-breeding; these caricatures of an noble animal descended from a wolf; these rickety pieces of fluff on spindly legs belie their size when their ‘territory’ is invaded by more respectable mammals and they give voice to their incessant and penetrating yipe – the perverted version of the wolf’s howl.
We are surrounded by a whole kindergarten of canine children substitutes and when one starts its inane parody of a bark then the whole grotesque zoo of shadow dogs add their high pitched irritation to the general cacophony.
There are two spaniel-like creatures at the end of our street who manage to produce a sort of twisted bark which is a mixture of squeal and scream. I have seen these two aged, bleary, sleep filled eyed plodders and the only reason they make any sound at all is that they are secure behind the firm bars of their garden gate.
One longs to hear a full throated bark which indicates that it is being produced by a real dog like, for example, a Labrador – but such animals seem too large and macho for a nation which prides itself on its masculinity. To hell with all of the precious rat-dog owners: they are pathetic and inconsiderate and should be fined for each high pitched yelp their pampered rats emit.
And then the children.
There are other quotations by W C Fields about children which are amusing but are something which a teacher can only take a guilty pleasure when laughing at them. To be a teacher is to care for kids. But to care for them in their place: in a professional situation in a school.
I see enough of kids in my professional life to want to see more of them in my home environment.
In my experience Spanish children are spoiled to a ridiculous extent. Virtually anything they do is excused – not only excused but admired and applauded. Their behaviour in public places is appalling, as indeed is that of their parents as they ignore or encourage a level of behaviour which would have had me publically executed by my weeping parents if I had even remotely approached the standards of depravity that Spanish children inhabit.
Not only are we surrounded by children of various ages but I suspect that, in a terrible twist of fate, I have rented a house oppose a nursery school!
As children find it impossible to communicate in anything less than a scream you can imagine my chagrin during a normal day in the holidays! The adolescent next door: a charming young lady with a string of repulsive pseudo-macho hangers on spends most of her day laughing that piercingly false laugh which is bread and butter to the soul of the budding male.
As they spend most of their time around the pool smoking cigarettes I think bloody thoughts and present a positively Buddha-like calm from the upholstered luxury of my new chair.
I will need that mystic calm for tomorrow when I go (again, oh god, again) to IKEA to buy yet more Billy Bookcases. These will be the apocalyptic bookcases as they represent the final number of shelves for whatever books remain in Bluespace. These are indeed the Final Days when the Books Will Be Counted.
Give me strength!
No comments:
Post a Comment