IMPORTANT STUFF

Sometimes I think that I should stop burbling on about films and telly and music and my introspective nonsenses and all kinds of other trivia of that sort, and really start to write about the more “important” things in life.

The serious issues dominating the news. The stories that other people are getting so worked up about and losing sleep by worrying about. Things that are “big” and “significant” and really, really “matter” to people who care about such things.

Perhaps I really should finally clamber down off my fence and tell you what I “reckon” about whatever it is that is currently troubling the world. War, Famine, Pestilence and Death, those four horsemen just keep on riding alongside their stablemates Injustice, Poverty, Discrimination and Dishonour, as well as all the rest.

Every day I get up and find that they’ve galloped their way in a pack through the world once more, and every day I sit at my keyboard and reflect instead upon trivia and nonsense and my own comparatively minor troubles whilst the world continues to struggle along, coping with the “big stuff” and getting precious little help from selfish old me.

Of course, I could claim that my roundabout way of approaching these little essays on the state of humanity, those occasional barbed asides that pick off my targets in the manner of a very subtle sniper, are just my own way of doing precisely that, hopefully without courting too much controversy, without offending anyone, and without drawing too much attention to myself, being as insignificant as I am in the great scheme of things.

It’s not as if I don’t spend any of my time reflecting upon the scary folk who want to put down personal freedoms like (to quote a few examples of the sort of things people do get worked up about) equal opportunities for marriage for those who want to do that sort of thing, or those whose dislike for the unlike makes them behave in a less than savoury manner, or those who just go through their lives looking to feather their own nests, indulge in an orgy of self-gratification, or just spend their short span of years inflicting pain upon others, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, it’s just that I believe that my opinion on such things doesn’t matter all that much and is hardly likely to change anything.

No, it’s far better to indulge myself in a bit of whimsy, some harmless self-examination, and a soupçon of confession (which is, apparently, “good for the soul”) without coming out with anything resembling a “point of view” which could be argued with, spat upon, put down or generally disagreed with and might just leave me feeling that I wish I’d kept my stupid mouth shut, and kept my ignorant and ill-thought out opinions to myself.

The problem is that I’m not by nature someone who likes to court controversy or spout my opinions. I’m even reluctant to put election notices in my windows or garden in case someone comes along and assumes that I have a concrete opinion about something.

I was never much of a one for a heated debate probably because I always used to lose in the face of strong or forthright opinion. Well, I say “lose”. I would, in fact, usually go away still holding firmly on to my beliefs, preferring in the end to believe, perhaps, that discretion is the better part of valour, and that “empty vessels” do indeed “make the most noise…”

That, or I simply wanted to avoid confrontation.

So you see, it’s all about cowardice really. I’d rather not stand up and fight for the things I believe in. I’ve always preferred to let louder, wronger voices (those “empty vessels”) burn themselves out in the belief that the illogic of their arguments would speak for themselves and show themselves for the ridiculous notions that they are. It’s taken me a long time to realise that if you let people shout and holler nonsense for long enough, people tend to start actually listening to it and, worse still, start to actually believe their own ears.

This is also why I was always reluctant to be a doorstepper or a salesperson. The thought of standing upon the threshold of someone else’s house, trying to persuade them towards one particular political point of view, or that some vacuum cleaner cleans deeper than others, just fills me with horror. Some might say that a more “honest” (passive-aggressive?) approach might be more successful, but I really doubt that I ever had the makings of such things in me.

This is why mere conversation, never mind a full-blown interview, could always fill me with such deep fear, and that I was seldom successful at them, especially when I’d already seen the better dressed, better looking, self-confident confidence trickster who would actually get the job waiting in reception when I arrived go in ahead of me.

I did once wonder whether a career in politics might have been an option, but all those months of persuasion which might still end in bitter disappointment did rather rule me out. I mean, if the only contest you are likely to feel comfortable entering is one with only one entrant, then it looks like you’re already well on the way to dictatorialism and that, as I am prepared to state outright, is not a good thing, no matter how many of the trains you get to run on time.

I dunno, maybe I should run the risk of publicly admitting to having some kind of opinion on something. It might prove to be a controversial choice, but...

Put your money where your mouth is, come down off the fence and actually believe in something, stand up for it and shout it out loud and proud.

Doesn’t much sound like me though, does it?