The Pumpkin and the Pie

Post CXXIV

Here’s the story of scissor etiquette, perseverance, my abdomen and happiness.

They always say one shouldn’t hold scissors inwards so as not to injure a passerby. Fair enough, it reduces the potential stab rate of a passerby by 100%. But conversely, doesn’t that also increase the chance of stabbing yourself by 100%? What this ancient rule is asking is for humankind to be selfless. To sacrifice oneself to save a stranger. A noble deed. But when I’m lying on the floor, bleeding profusely from my lower abdomen, in the most ultimate of pain, I seriously doubt I’ll be thinking, “Ah well, at least that fellow that passed me by is fine and dandy”. I’m more likely to be thinking, “HOLY SUGAR, THIS HURTS LIKE A BASTARD!”

Now I’m not saying we should endanger strangers. They don’t deserve to be impaled on the rusty dagger of a 40-year-old pair of rare metal scissors. The point is that neither of us deserves to be stabbed. What kind of society are we living in where self-sacrifice is seen as the preferred option to, oh, I don’t know, a pair of scissors in each room meaning one doesn’t have to carry them around? “Forsooth, brave knight, you shalt give your heart to your fellow gentleman to ensure your place among the angels and the eternal debt to your wife owed by said fellow”. Oh, he’ll take care of your wife all right.

How medieval is all this?

I’m all for traditions and nobility in society but it’s not worth it. Nobody cares anymore. What happens these days when you open the door for a ‘fine young maiden’? If you’re lucky, you’ll get a cursory glance and a meagre acknowledgement, but that’s only because she now doesn’t have to put down her precious smartphone. An elderly lady drops her purse and out spill one thousand pennies. You go over to help. Instead, you get a bag wrapped around your head several times, as she proceeds to kick the crap out of you. “You’re a hoodlum! Die thief! DIE!”

I help when people fall over. I’m not some prick who wants to film it and put it on the intertubes for a ‘laugh’. I’m a human being. Somebody has just taken a nasty tumble and you’re laughing. PICK – THEM – UP. Is it really so difficult? Even we are victimized. The people you help shake you off and check their pockets. Thinking, ‘Has he stolen anything?’

It was Halloween this week. I hate Halloween. Children often do all they can to irritate me. Snowball my window. And then me. Swear. Shout. Laugh. Halloween was once a grand old tradition. I never engaged in it, though. It wasn’t my scene. I never did a lot as a child. I turned down offers to learn how to swim and ride a bike. Just wasn’t logical. And I also turned down Halloween. Little children in sweet efforts for a costume. Asking for a treat. Aww. How precious. Nowadays it’s just teenagers. “Yo blud, giz a treat or get tricked, right?” The treat is booze money. The trick is a bullet to the abdomen. My abdomen isn’t fairing very well this week, is it?

Last year, I locked the house down. Father and mother were away. I put the house alarm on, switched off all the lights and hid for several hours. I was okay. I had a flask of gorgeous Yorkshire Tea and a few ham sandwiches. Of course, I was by myself, so I fully understand why, to you, this sounds like the life of a crazy person.

I had no choice. The youth are terrifying.

We ran out of treats this year. Also a terrifying prospect. We had run out of money and had resorted to raiding the fridge. It was a close call, this year. We almost ran out of everything. You’d think giving a small child a pork pie for Halloween was the bottom of the barrel. Just about. Although if any more ‘children’ had come around, we would have had to give them either something frozen from the freezer, or a shoe.

I’m not saying give up. Be generous, kind and wonderful to each other. The world is turning crazy but it’s the job of those who aren’t crazy to spread sanity like the 100-mile-per-hour mucus of a badly covered up sneeze on a bus. Yes, we try to pick people up. It’s the action that should matter. Yes, we try to help that old lady. It’s the action that should matter. And yes, we gave a rain soaked five-year-old pumpkin a pork pie. I’m sure he was greatly comforted by that.

I live in Northern England. The south has had terrible storms this week. Through adversity and the awful tragedy of loss of life, they’ve managed and persevered. Obviously, we’re all thinking of them and keeping them in our prayers. The world may be a dark, dark place, and I’m sure if feels like that for them, but there’s always some good. Always someone wanting to help. Always a light at the end of any tunnel. And always, always, no matter how crap the world may seem, an infinite source of light that will never allow any darkness to conquer it.

Yes, I may end up getting shot by some teenager on Halloween dressed as a skeleton, which is really not how I want to go. Exploding microwave is still number one. And yes, I may have to end up sacrificing myself for a stranger because scissor etiquette is goddamn ridiculous. But you know what, does it matter? No. Because I am happy. And I will remain happy, because I know that stranger would help me.

It would still hurt like a bastard, though…

British writer, James Brian Jacques (1939-2011), once said: “Don’t be ashamed to weep; ‘tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us”.

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post


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