At last. The early starts have ended. Balloon Woman has done something that has brought my resignation forward a week but more on that later. Tonight is a return to whisky.
I have a bottle of Ben Bracken, not the finest of vatted malt whiskies but pretty damn good for the price. The label suggests that it isn’t really a vatted malt, but is a malt blend that is mixed when the malts are young and then aged in oak as a blend. Seems an odd way to do it and a risky way – you can’t taste whether your blend has worked for 12 years! What if you end up with a warehouse full of crap?
Well those supermarket own-brands have to come from somewhere I suppose.
Anyway. Suitably fuelled at last and with the red mist of rage now subsided into the freezing fog of vengeance (much better for the calculated approach, I find), I can set my mind to other things. This will be incomplete because I still have day-lag.
I have noticed that the young are pretty much allowed to do as they please these days. Fortunately most of them have not succumbed the Thug Life temptations and are pretty decent. You never hear about all the decent ones, just as you never hear about the majority of white men who are neither rapists nor paedophiles.
For those who choose thuggery there is little to dissuade them. Parents who have taken on the Progressive Message believe they are giving their children a good start in life by trying to reason with them while they eat the curtains and lacerate the dog with cheese wire. No punishment beyond ‘Tut-tut, little Lucifer, you know, I don’t think the dog really much likes being flayed alive’.
Then those same parents act all surprised when they wake in a bath of ice to find their offspring has sold their kidneys to the local butcher for a bag of sweets.
As these Ferals grow and target non-family members, the courts take the view that well, he’s just a child, he doesn’t understand that a knife between the ribs can actually hurt people. It’s all the fault of video games and fast food.
These days it must come as a nasty shock to turn 18. Suddenly you cannot smoke where you please any more. You have to pay for booze and you have to abide by limits. When you get arrested they actually send you to jail! You’re not a child any more. You’re an adult now. Where the child has the freedom to do as they please, the adult is tightly restricted by rules from all sides.
I remember when it used to be the other way around.
Digression: It occurred to me that in the Satanic version of the Bible, the last book is probably called the Book of Regulations. In which the Four Horsemen appear in hi-vis vests and write out fixed penalty notices. End digression.
People no longer grow up. They grow down.
I saw a child recently, I suppose about nine or ten, out with her mother. The child was dressed in a onesie. This seemed reasonable, she was just a child and children like to dress up. I had a Dalek suit as a child, fully equipped with a sink plunger and a painted stick. “Die, shitface” was followed by a sudden pain in the side of the head and the instruction that the correct term was ‘Exterminate’. That’s a big word for a little council estate kid but I learned it anyway. Maybe the Daleks originated in the Penllwyn estate. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. The whole Dalek thing could well be my father’s fault. It might also explain why the head-parts of the final Daleks were not made of easily belted PVC.
Now there are adults in these onesie romper suits (that is what they are, let’s face it) proudly strutting about like three-year-olds with a new dress-up toy. They drink from trainer cups, plastic lids with a hole in so they don’t spill it all over themselves, or from those babies’ bottles renamed as ‘sports bottles’.
Adults now accept every regulation thrown at them and demand more. They want to be controlled. They want to know the limits of their lives whereas real adults have no limits (beyond the obvious ‘harm nobody else’ limit). If a real adult wants to ignore the warnings on a product and enjoy it anyway, then a real adult can do so. A child cannot.
Any antismokers who are about to say somethng along the lines of ‘your rights end at my nose’ can go straight to Hell without passing ‘Go’ at this point. If thy nose offends thee, cut it off. Then you will have no more problems. Well, apart from the problem of finding someone who likes you but if you’re that rabid, you already have that problem anyway. So there’ll be no change. Nose removal renders you immune to second hand smoke and if you ask the NHS for it and tell them why, they’ll do it. Because they are just as stupid as you.
Children look for boundaries. We all did it. We pushed at the boundaries until something hurt and then we stopped pushing. This far and no further. This is a comfortable thing for a child, to know where the boundaries are. To know the limits of what you can and cannot do.
There are still parents who instil discipline and there are children who accept that for what it is. A boundary. There are parents who go too far but there always have been some and always will be. Those parents are just rotten people.
It seems to me that the modern rise of the progessive parents are worse than the drunk and violent ones. The progressives teach their children that they can behave as they please while the parents follow every rule and regulation to the letter. Is that preparing children for adult life?
Being knocked about is, I think, a much better preparation for adult life than being told that nobody will ever be better than you. Not that I think walloping kids for no reason is a good thing, it is not. Yes, children want some boundaries but set those boundaries too narrow and you are nurturing a future psychopath.
Have no boundaries at all and you are growing a sociopath.
Speaking – erm,. writing – as a biologist, it all looks to me like the domestication of a species. Every successive generation is more compliant and more easily trained than the one before. Paying the stupid to breed is all part of it. The human race is being turned into cattle and the human race is clamouring for it.
Wild dogs rarely bark, they communicate with low grunts. Wild cats do not want their tummies rubbed. Try it, but don’t bill me for the bandages. The young of those species do those things and domestication means keeping them child-like. They see you as a parent and in a terrible cycle of despair, people with dogs and cats now see themselves as the animal’s ‘dad’ or ‘mum’. And the progressive ones treat those animals as children and try to reason with them when they eat the curtains or flay Auntie Ethel with teeth or claws.
Wild animals can see the advantages of domestication. Free food and a warm place to sleep. What are the government offering their favoured ones?
As for me and those who read here, well, what does the domestication breeder do with the failures?