The Abingdon Pool cafe is toddler-tastic on a Sunday morning and today, as Poz fashions a cheese sandwich into a variety of moist adornments, the ubiquitous wall-mounted TV airs a debate on the question: should we tolerate the intolerant? A fascist-looking dude and a middle eastern-looking guy are hard at it. I can’t hear them but can guess what they’re saying and wearily hope that they’ve at least dealt with the opening predicament.
What are we when we cease to be tolerant, if not intolerant? Then, by Jove, how shall we put up with ourselves? I turn my chair to evade these oxymorons. It wouldn’t bother me at all if it was just strutting and pouting, like televised sport, but some people take these contests to heart and when it spills over into the community it gets ugly.
"Oh no, cheese," wails Poz, as his sandwich falls to the floor.
With all the stuff that's going on in the Middle East this kind of thing is right up the media agenda but proper analysis is too complex for TV, to my mind. People lose their lives over arguments like these. I rescue Poz's sarnie and think how utterly devastated I’d be for the rest of my life if I lost him, or his mum.
"Tankoo daddy," he grins.
Is there anything that important to be seen to be right about? And can you imagine the news team then trying to capture your tears for the likes of those that gawp at traffic accidents. Terrible.
I'd like to see the same audience presented with: should we give in to hate?
"Er, yeah, well if they killed my mum..." Yes, well, we all know mums that deserve a shiv in the neck, right fellas?
Dark sarcastic thoughts, on a beautiful day, put there by stupid TV.
"Home," says Poz, and, "Beebies?"
