Often in life, I have the feeling that I have missed a meeting. This sensation comes from my inbuilt punctiliousness, and is rarely based on fact. Far from missing meetings, I chair them, take minutes, and sometimes attend them, even when they have been cancelled. But still the eerie sensation persists that there are mysterious forces at work, changing the landscape when no one is looking.
How, for example, did I miss the official opening of the Scottish Executive's "War on Neds"? It is an event I would have enjoyed, as the Senior Retainer, Mr McConnell, would surely have dressed appropriately, in a Burberry mini-kilt. Perhaps there was a reception, sponsored by the Monks of Buckfast.
Do not misunderstand: I am not against this initiative. For years I have been of the opinion that if neds cannot be drafted into the armed forces to do their national service, then national service should be done unto them.
It is a simple enough idea. Neds are a self-defining group, with their peaked caps, their "shell suits" and their fighting dogs on strings. If there is any doubt about whether someone belongs to this objectionable clan, they could be held in captivity until neddish tendencies are observed. Only if they manage to go for, say, six months without spitting, cursing, or removing their t-shirts at the first hint of sunshine, should they be released back into the community. As a "halfway house" these un-neds might be encouraged to stay in Haddington for a while, with the other ex-Glaswegians.
But now the bad news. The war is being lost. True, our elected officials, with Mr McConnell at the head, have used the FIFA World Cup as an excuse to demonstrate an affinity for the mindless xenophobia of the Provisional wing of the Tartan Army, which has been supporting the "Anyone But England" team at the tournament. In doing so, they have reflected Scottishness at its most small-minded and pathetic - the very definition of Neddish behaviour.
The Herald is right: the neds have taken over the asylum. When they come, we will hear them first by the clanking of their cheap golden chains.
3 comments:
I'm not sure putting them in the Army's an awfully good idea in terms of their fighting skills - my experience as an A&E doctor in the West of Scotland and my friend's as a police officer in the east end of Glasgow is that not only do they have no idea where to stab you, but they have absolutely no pain threashold either. The sight of a grown ned greetin' over a wee tiny bruise is truly, truly pathetic.
a revived national service is likely to involve alot of peeling potatoes in Catterick, just near here. It suspect your cunning plan is that if you can't export the objects of your ire to an ambush in the khyber pass then at least you can get them away as far as yorkshire. In the spirit of cross border co-operation, and because you can never have enough chips we'll take all you have but you can keep McConnell because chips of the shoulder bourne variety have less of a useful contribution to make. we call them chavs here of course, I say tomato, you say toe-mato...
I think I know what a "ned" is, or at least, I suspect that I would know one if I met one. My feeling is that they are incorrigible but in certain circumstances they can add to the gaiety (in the old-fashioned sense, of course) of nations if experienced in the right circs! Try my place and the post entitled "Another Tall Tale from the Barrackroom!" for an example.
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