Same as it ever was..............
" I would have ground my heel into his foot, I would jabbed him good and hard with an elbow, I would have finished him off with a slap across the back of the head. I would yes. BUT, in addition, I have many questions arising Babycakes, that beg an answer I think you will agree ". My husband takes a deep breath, girds his loins and assumes the position ( interest). We are reading a newspaper article about Deputy Aine Collins pulled on to the lap of Deputy Tom Barry and held there, in the Dail Bar during an all night session to debate and vote on the Abortion Legislation. "I mean right, first, WHY would anyone have access to alcohol, be drinking, in the midst of THAT debate, or when voting on any pending legislation for that matter. Why? Was it because it was at night, darling?. Or...or was the debate like over, or was he like having a break, or was there actually debating as such ? Was he just like shooting the breeze maybe before he resumed the debating? And if he was finished debating didn't he have to go home? Didn't he have to drive? And what about his like cognitive functioning? I mean lets see, it's late at night, he is debating, he is voting, he is tired, and he.... what? needed another drink? before going back into vote as he was told by the party leadership ? having first had an assurance from his local priest that he would not be excommunicated for so doing, apparently. So, Ok, he was not going to need much in the way of smarts then. So,.... I mean,..... WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?
same as it ever was............................
And also SHE, why did SHE not grind her heel into his foot, elbow him hard into the ribs, give him a good hard slap across the back of the.....? Why? Can it possibly be that this kind of thing is a regular event? Do you think? Happens all the time? And, with this shower of frighteningly anachronistic throwbacks, nobody notices. Pays it no mind basically. Because they are just that. Hidebound tribal minded men, heads wired to an old old tune, arrested in time. The club. Letting in only their own kind, and a handful of compliant women. ...... And don't you think THAT'S why there is so few women in politics Dear One? I mean what red blooded, self respecting woman could jump through those hoops? Or want to? And never mind the other reasons, Dearheart, childrearing, work life balance, a paucity of testosterone. yadda yadda yadda. They won't let you in darling,. Not. Unless you speak their language. Lapgate is their language. There you have it. Caught on camera. Captured in light.. Yeah.
same as it ever was....................................
"And then, and also, Sweetest Heart, we had Fannygate! Senator David Norris telling female senator Regina Doherty that she is talking through her fanny, the Regina monologues ( he is a Wit!) as a press release on abolishing the senate in being discussed ( Brillant notion.!) (Lets!) He tells her and later Senator Lorraine Higgins, that THEY have only been in there a wet weekend, and HE will not apologise, is not being sexist., no. Though, on the other hand, he would be prepared to debate the matter intellectually and academically. So he would. Same thing then, same old story, same as it ever was. He is speaking as he always does down the Senate. And proud of it. "Tweet this" he says after. It's what they do, how they talk, who they are. And he is in character, talking through his back bottom, dribbling through his Penis. (that's for Regina)." My husband sees the point exactly, as the dear man always does.
But Doris Lessing knows.
In the cool of the evening I finish off Doris Lessing's book " The Sweetest Dream" . The ending blows me away. She wrote this book in 2001, and I, being up to my neck in infants, missed it until now. Decades ago her book Shikasta sustained me in its vision at a low ebb in my life, my inherited catholicism fluttering useless to me in a roaring wind. This book concerns three women, starting in the sixties. Her womens' heroic struggle in the rearing of adolescents was wonderfully observed and illuminating. Sucked me in. She blamed the hardships, the messy recalcitrance of teenagers, on a sort of generational derailment after the second world war, where I have put affluence and a dodgy message of entitlement in the frame with my own sweet horrors. Same as it ever was? Whatever, you are catapulted from family life in London to immediately post liberation Africa in the third section of the book, where her painfully salvaged adolescent girl, a doctor now, goes doctoring, in a scalding story line of savage waste and boundless loss. Yeah, Doris Lessing knows. Knows life. Knows women. Knows Africa. She knows.
" I would have ground my heel into his foot, I would jabbed him good and hard with an elbow, I would have finished him off with a slap across the back of the head. I would yes. BUT, in addition, I have many questions arising Babycakes, that beg an answer I think you will agree ". My husband takes a deep breath, girds his loins and assumes the position ( interest). We are reading a newspaper article about Deputy Aine Collins pulled on to the lap of Deputy Tom Barry and held there, in the Dail Bar during an all night session to debate and vote on the Abortion Legislation. "I mean right, first, WHY would anyone have access to alcohol, be drinking, in the midst of THAT debate, or when voting on any pending legislation for that matter. Why? Was it because it was at night, darling?. Or...or was the debate like over, or was he like having a break, or was there actually debating as such ? Was he just like shooting the breeze maybe before he resumed the debating? And if he was finished debating didn't he have to go home? Didn't he have to drive? And what about his like cognitive functioning? I mean lets see, it's late at night, he is debating, he is voting, he is tired, and he.... what? needed another drink? before going back into vote as he was told by the party leadership ? having first had an assurance from his local priest that he would not be excommunicated for so doing, apparently. So, Ok, he was not going to need much in the way of smarts then. So,.... I mean,..... WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?
same as it ever was............................
And also SHE, why did SHE not grind her heel into his foot, elbow him hard into the ribs, give him a good hard slap across the back of the.....? Why? Can it possibly be that this kind of thing is a regular event? Do you think? Happens all the time? And, with this shower of frighteningly anachronistic throwbacks, nobody notices. Pays it no mind basically. Because they are just that. Hidebound tribal minded men, heads wired to an old old tune, arrested in time. The club. Letting in only their own kind, and a handful of compliant women. ...... And don't you think THAT'S why there is so few women in politics Dear One? I mean what red blooded, self respecting woman could jump through those hoops? Or want to? And never mind the other reasons, Dearheart, childrearing, work life balance, a paucity of testosterone. yadda yadda yadda. They won't let you in darling,. Not. Unless you speak their language. Lapgate is their language. There you have it. Caught on camera. Captured in light.. Yeah.
same as it ever was....................................
"And then, and also, Sweetest Heart, we had Fannygate! Senator David Norris telling female senator Regina Doherty that she is talking through her fanny, the Regina monologues ( he is a Wit!) as a press release on abolishing the senate in being discussed ( Brillant notion.!) (Lets!) He tells her and later Senator Lorraine Higgins, that THEY have only been in there a wet weekend, and HE will not apologise, is not being sexist., no. Though, on the other hand, he would be prepared to debate the matter intellectually and academically. So he would. Same thing then, same old story, same as it ever was. He is speaking as he always does down the Senate. And proud of it. "Tweet this" he says after. It's what they do, how they talk, who they are. And he is in character, talking through his back bottom, dribbling through his Penis. (that's for Regina)." My husband sees the point exactly, as the dear man always does.
But Doris Lessing knows.
In the cool of the evening I finish off Doris Lessing's book " The Sweetest Dream" . The ending blows me away. She wrote this book in 2001, and I, being up to my neck in infants, missed it until now. Decades ago her book Shikasta sustained me in its vision at a low ebb in my life, my inherited catholicism fluttering useless to me in a roaring wind. This book concerns three women, starting in the sixties. Her womens' heroic struggle in the rearing of adolescents was wonderfully observed and illuminating. Sucked me in. She blamed the hardships, the messy recalcitrance of teenagers, on a sort of generational derailment after the second world war, where I have put affluence and a dodgy message of entitlement in the frame with my own sweet horrors. Same as it ever was? Whatever, you are catapulted from family life in London to immediately post liberation Africa in the third section of the book, where her painfully salvaged adolescent girl, a doctor now, goes doctoring, in a scalding story line of savage waste and boundless loss. Yeah, Doris Lessing knows. Knows life. Knows women. Knows Africa. She knows.
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