A BRUSH WITH GREATNESS
I was privileged to meet two of the most important people in the world just a little earlier tonight. ++
They had graciously condescended to visit us, from their home territory “on the Continent”.
To celebrate this important cultural milestone in our recent history, they were having the kind of engaged but intermittently tetchy dialogue that can be recognised – even by those without a word of the relevant language – as what might be termed, “a pre-domestic”.
Where they were doing it was right in the middle of the pavement in plain view, and where their respective bicycles were located during this mutual snit-trending-imbroglio were, for one thing, firmly in their hands, and for the other, nose to tail, end to end, perpendicular to the direction of the walkway, so that they were directly blocking 95% of the footpath.
As I and other pedestrians approached, they reacted in no way whatsoever, other than to continue the impromptu “Billy Goats gruff” type blockade and keep on bickering. The miniscule space left required the hanging out of at least 0.5 buttocks into the path of the traffic, but the fatheads concerned clearly could not be distracted by mere trifles such as letting other human beings use a public pavement, so they just kept on blockading, and persnickerating at each other.
When I looked back, with jaw still hanging open, they were still going at it, and made a woman approaching from the other direction walk all the way around, without giving her a nod, apology, or first glance much less a second one. Well, I guess they refrained from spitting on her.
It almost gave me chills down my spine to meet such crashingly important people as these – just out on a regular suburban street, too – people against whose lives, the rest of our miserable existences pale into barely discernable insignificance. Apparently.
For the first time ever, it also made me reflect on the sad paucity of criminal penalties in our justice system that would allow for minor but irritating offenders to have lit fireworks inserted down the front of their pants.
[PS For complete idiots and/or young people reading this, dropping firecrackers down people’s pants is dangerous and may result in severe injury, and also you missing out on seeing the fireworks go off, because they’re down someone’s pants. No individual of any age should do this. My point was that, regarding some people, who are completely hopeless, the judicial system should be allowed to do it to them as this will cheer everybody else up.]
EINE KLEINE NACHTSCHEISSE
Here’s some of what you can see on a late night stroll around St Kilda, presuming you’re foolish enough not to avoid this practice.
:: Drunks trying to get home
:: Drunks trying to get drunker
:: Slightly more upmarket drunks yelling at each other in conjunction with violently demonstrative laughter, to try and convince themselves they’re having a better time than they’re having
:: Hapless suburban “teen rebel” wannabes talking at the tops of their lungs about how they want to take some sort of pill (that they probably haven’t got)
:: Hapless suburban 50-odds trying to dress around 20 years younger talking about how they could really use a joint (that they obviously haven’t got)
:: A sizeable proportion of really quite important people, who all have to walk next to each other on a footpath, thus effectively blocking it off for the likes of you headed in the opposite direction on the same footpath. This is like the national disease now.
:: The Latin-themed bar which has apparently become confused by its own theme, and features a band which, despite one or two of them being decked out in costume-hire looking mariachi band regalia, are blasting out cheeseball Acker Bilk style Dixieland selections (or “trad jazz” as it was called back when dinosaurs freely roamed White Hart Lane) at a volume that is creasing the road surface outside. +++
:: Apparent proof that tired drunk people psychologically regress, as there are a hell of a lot of people buying cake and ice-cream for that time of night
++ They are, however, not THE most important person in the world. That has recently been defined, unequivocally, as Sepp Blatter, the grand poobah of soccer’s world governing body, FIFA.
The defining moment occurred at the World Cup Draw Spectacular and Grill (Saturday 7th December, AEST), when His Blatterness, after a few not conspicuously brilliantly chosen words re Nelson Mandela, suavely instructed the audience, and I quote, “Applaud, please!!” When you think about it, you have to be the most important person in the world when you get to tell people when to applaud while you’re talking, just in case they don’t realise exactly how impressive and significant whatever the hell you’ve just said is.
+++ The real worry here is that it might just have been long enough since anyone in the general public has heard this kind of heavily pre-chewed spearmint gum among musical styles. Those passing by and those clinging to tables inside the bar seemed mildly captivated by the ham-fisted ear pummelling that was going on. Admittedly at that volume, they weren’t going to be falling asleep.