He’s having a good hard think to himself this one. Up he’s gone to the castle wall with a globe of the world in his hand. And he’s looking out across the ocean and wondering about what adventures he could get up to in some of them other countries. Although, because he’s a bloke, his idea of international adventure is all wrapped up with imagining what it would be like to have carnal relations with women from all of those other countries. That’s why he is holding his wand in his other hand and looking all wistful. But there is a perfectly good wand behind him an’all. Equally straight and bursting with the exact same amount of new life. Only this second wand is fastened to the fabric of his castle. The message to him is clear. He can go gallivanting off around the world having adventures, or he can stay at home with familiar people who love him. At the end of the day, it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. He will still get his jollies. And either way, he might get run over by a bus tomorrow.
My Raymond’s brother John went on adventures in other countries. So did my Raymond. They had to. There was a war on. But my Raymond came home to me when it had all finished, whereas John found himself a fancy woman in Italy, so he stayed out there with her, guzzling spaghetti and red wine, I shouldn’t wonder. And smothering it in that ruddy funny powdery cheese that smells like sweaty feet. I’m not saying that was why it didn’t work out. But they do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and in my book, if you feed him muck like that, the odds are stacked against a long marriage, particularly if you are getting him sozzled at the same time. Our John could be belligerent when he was sozzled.
In the end, I don’t know whether he left her or she kicked him out but any road, he came back to England with his tail between his legs, and didn’t bother with women for the rest of his days. Apart from when he was watching them carrying on in those disgusting videos he used to buy. I can’t say that his diet got any better though. He swapped spaghetti for whatever they had down the chip shop, and swapped the red wine for cans of strong lager, and spent most of his time laid out on the settee. Perhaps he should have come home as soon as the war was over and settled down with some local lass who would have fed him pie and peas and given him a boot up the arse to get a decent job, or when there were things to be done around the house. But sometimes you just have to accept that people choose their own paths, even if they lead to a filthy dead end.
Four things that you might do this week. (i) Take a long hard look at yourself, perhaps whilst holding a globe, or a road atlas, and ask yourself what you want out of life. Travel and adventure or home comforts. Once you have decided you can get on with it. Which isn’t to say that you are completely stuck. The adventurer can always pop home for a visit, and the home lover can always book an exotic holiday on the continent. Most travel agents stock a range of brochures to give you some ideas. (ii) take care when crossing the road. It’s one thing knowing that you might get run over by a bus tomorrow, but it’s another matter if you actually court such a disaster by not looking both ways before stepping out onto a bus route. (iii) Broaden your horizons, and try eating some foreign food. These days you can get loads of exotic dishes at the local supermarket, in tins an’all. Spaghetti bolognaise, chilli con carne, curry, cock a leaky soup, the lot! You have to have a strong stomach and an open mind though. (iv) resist the temptation to stay on the settee all day eating shite and watching shite on the telly an’all. You are better than that. Tie up ruddy line dancing or something.(whatever that is when it’s all at home.)
He’s a young lad this one. Wet behind the ruddy ears. He’s probably only got that sword recently. It might have been a birthday present. Of course, I don’t know much about swordsmanship, but looking at his hands, I don’t reckon he has much of a proper grip on it neither.
And look at his ruddy haircut! That’s not a swordsman’s haircut. He isn’t dressed like a swordsman either. With that lilac tunic over a yellow shirt and his bright red boots over pea green tights, he would be better off somewhere where he would have a chance of turning the lasses’ heads, rather than messing about with that ruddy sword in a windswept field. He just doesn’t look right with it. does he.
The ruddy problem is that the world is full of young fellers like him. Young lads full of big ideas that they haven’t thought through properly. Lads like that are ripe for the picking of older men. Men who have thought their ideas through and don’t give a damn about the ruddy consequences. Men with wickedness in their hearts. As well as men who sell ruddy swords.
The next time you hear on the news about some young feller who has sacrificed his life for some ideal, think about the Page of Swords. Despite the stupid haircut he is a good looking young man. And good looking young men will insist on having stupid haircuts, won’t they. I wonder if his mother knows about that sword? I bet his ruddy father does. Somebody has got it into his head that it is better to spend his time with swords than with his family, with lasses, and with people who love him.
There are plenty of young lads like him around today. Strapping ruddy dynamite to their chests or buggering off to fight battles in foreign countries. Or just generally looking for some excuse to use weapons on other people. And those wicked older men are always around to tell them who to turn their weapons on, encourage them with praise and big idealist excuses for doing it. But all they end up doing is breaking their mothers hearts, and the hearts of the mothers of the people that they ruddy well kill.
Four things that you might do this week. (i) Take all the weapons out of the toy box of any kiddies that you know, and swap them for some useful toys. A microscope, a stethoscope, a paint box. The world needs more scientists, doctors and artists, we don’t need ruddy soldiers. (ii) The same goes for ruddy computer games an’all. Try and give them something better to do than trying to blow people to smithereens. Nobody deserves to be blown to smithereens. And nobody is born with the natural desire to blow anyone to smithereens either? But the more often kiddies play at blowing people to smithereens in ruddy computer games, the more easily they can be persuaded to do it to people for real. (iii) try not to roll your eyes and tut the next time you see a young lad with a stupid haircut. They like their stupid haircuts, and if you roll your eyes and tut it makes them hate you and anyone like you, as well as making them more determined to persevere with their stupid ruddy haircuts. (iv) if you do know any young, impressionable lads (and all young lads are impressionable, let them know that you love them, and that you don’t hold with violence.