"Shout abuse and run away."

with 2 Comments

HOME — I’ve had a bit of an epiphany.  Again.  I realised that there may be another defining national characteristic that I hadn’t really understood.

I used to think that the national flag of the United Kingdom ought to be this:

Instead of this:

But maybe the one at the top of this post is even better?

In the paper today a columnist refers to it as “the inviability of the individual”, which I think is a posh way of saying “I’m always right.”

And you see it a lot on the streets.  Motorists heaping abuse on each other over the most minuscule of sins.  There will be shouting, and gesticulating, and a swift move from any discussion of the issue to name calling and odd hand gestures.

Whatever the offence, one thing is always 100% clear: I was right, and you… well you’re just a &€#@?*!!, aren’t you?

So far, not so different.  You can see arguments on streets across Europe, Africa and other worlds.  What separates Britain is the fact that the one who is most aggrieved will be absolutely certain to be at a safe distance, with a clear getaway planned.

Nothing wrong with that.

It worked for Sir Francis Drake.  And we know what happened to that Spanish armoire thing, don’t we.

Who are you looking at anyway!  Huh?

/df



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2 Responses

  1. Kevin Keohane
    |

    It saddens me, this societal trend and you see it everywhere. The cult of the individual. Reality TV. Obsession with celebrity. The goal is to be famous, not to be good at something. And fast. The rule apply to everyone but me. As a commuter in London, the behaviour of drivers and pedestrians and pedal cyclists underline it – I’ll go where the hell I want, whenever I want, and if I get in your way (even if I am in the wrong) it’s YOUR problem.

  2. Mike Ferrabee
    |

    Same here in N America. Difference is they aren’t as strategic. I was chased into a parking lot yesterday by a big guy in a bigger truck, He had his overweight girlfriend in the cab sucking on a smoke between her missing tooth. He cruised beside me as I walked yelling obscenities about cutting him off. Finally I stopped, and looked at him with a crazed and demented look and suttered something in Kswahili (habari acko), then limped away. He was dumbfounded and drove off. And I didn’t get the stuffing kicked out of me. Sometimes the offending party needs to be strategic when confronted by one less so.

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