I find it annoying when people aren’t direct with me. They somehow expect me to ‘read between the lines’, a difficult job at the best of times and downright dangerous if the lines in question happen to be on a railway. Well, I’m never going to read between railway lines – and neither should you. There are safer places to read a book. Two professions, in particular, are magnets for ‘indirect’ people and I will talk about these in this piece.
The first group I will write about are estate agents/realtors. Estate agents have a language all of their own; it’s called ‘Balderdash Sells’ or BS for short. How many times have they described a property as needing ‘Tender Loving Care?’ What they might mean by this is that the house wouldn’t look out of place among the ruins of Rome. And if they ever tell you the property is in an area with quiet neighbours, make sure to check there isn’t a graveyard behind the back garden.
Most politicians also fall into the ‘Balderdash Sells’ category. In fact, they fall flat on their faces into this category. For example, they might say that the economy is doing well when what they really mean is the economy is going downhill faster than an Olympic skier with chronic flatulence.
The good news is there’s a way to tell what a politician really means and that is by looking at his/her body language. For example, say he is talking about the country’s economy being ‘stable’ and you notice that he can’t keep his feet still. In this situation his mind isn’t really on the economy – as it’s more likely he needs the toilet.
Before you leave, I’d like to be very direct and ask you to share this piece and to follow my blog. Thank you.
© John E. McBride (2017)
Moanaghan Man
Sunday 24 September 2017
Monday 18 September 2017
It's a Rap
To prove that some things never change, I’m posting a piece (which has been slightly edited) from 2013 concerning the Republic of Ireland football team and its tenuous connection to rap music. As you will see, most of it could have been written today. However, we live in hope.
I am reliably informed that there is a rap music artist called Plan B. I don’t know why he chose the moniker ‘Plan B’ – perhaps his preferred choice of career was accountancy – but I do like his name, or rather, the logic that label represents.
Before I go on, don’t reach for the earplugs; this piece isn’t about rap music. It’s something worse – a certain international football team who play in green. Lately, the Republic of Ireland has been playing a style of football that is monotonous, predictable and boring – the visual equivalent of rap.
Giovanni Trapattoni has done a lot of good work, and I sincerely wish him a happy retirement. However, I hope his successor will let the team play in a way that won’t endanger low-flying aircraft over Dublin 4. Let’s keep the high ball to good old Gaelic football.
Another criticism levelled at Ireland was that they didn’t have a Plan B (did they even have a Plan A?) in their recent World Cup qualifiers. This brings me back to my starting point: I think it’s important that every person, business, and team has an alternative plan ready in case the original one goes wrong.
So, Ireland, take my advice and employ Plan B next time things are going badly on the pitch. I sure that when he starts singing his rap music, the opposition will forget about the match and let us win.
Before I wrap this up, I’d like to ask you to please share and follow. Follow me, that is, not the Irish team. But you can do that too if you like.
© John E. McBride (2017)
Sunday 10 September 2017
Valentine Card-astrophes
The world needs love more than ever. So please read the following semi-biographical piece on the subject of Valentine's cards. (That’s the best link I can offer).
My first Valentine situation occurred when I was at primary school in the 1970s. A girl came up to me as I was about to leave for home and handed me an envelope with a valentine card inside. She made it clear the card was from her. This action broke the anonymity rule of valentines in a big way. More importantly, it was a gesture that had to be reciprocated. And I would not be able to use the ‘don't-know-who-I’m-supposed-to-reciprocate-to’ excuse. The girl lived near me so I could deliver the Valentine in person. However, my home was miles from town and we didn’t have a car, so there was no chance of buying a card on the day – and that meant trouble as this was Valentine’s Day.
My mother learned of my predicament as soon as I arrived home. She thought for a moment, then went to a drawer and pulled out a selection of ancient birthday and Christmas cards. One of them apparently served as both a birthday and Christmas card for it had roses and sprigs of holly on its cover. It was huge, too big to be placed in an ordinary envelope. Inside, a personal message had been written on the page opposite the card’s verse. My mother carefully removed the handwritten part, leaving a greeting that wished the recipient ‘…a joyous day and peace throughout the coming year’.
Maybe, just maybe, this would pass as a Valentine – if the girl didn’t notice that it was a twenty-year-old, second-hand Christmas card that came delivered in a tatty shopping bag. Later, I knocked on her door; she answered and I handed her the shopping bag. She pulled the card out and proceeded to gaze at it, her face full of delight. This left me with the (incorrect) impression that women are easily pleased.
A few years and a new girlfriend later, my shyness had made buying a Valentine card in person difficult, so I asked a friend if they would purchase one for me. I soon learned that asking this friend to buy a Valentine came with a major drawback: Their taste in cards didn’t match mine – or any other human. The chosen card featured a vintage car on the cover which made it look suspiciously like something a woman would send to a man. I posted the Valentine and hoped the girl was a fan of vintage cars.
My friend was called into action again the following year. My previous girlfriend – who had not turned out to be a fan of vintage cars – had left me and I needed one for my new sweetheart. Surely this time, the Valentine would be more relevant than one displaying an old banger. Surely not. This card had an elephant on its cover. An elephant. They are wonderful creatures, but in my opinion, elephants come just above Wookiees near the bottom of the romantic animal league. Although it was a humorous card, I wasn’t laughing – and neither was my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.
In an effort to stop girls deserting me, I decided to buy my own cards from then on. And I made sure that I never, ever gave a Valentine that featured an elephant driving an old car with a sprig of holly on the bumper.
© John E. McBride (2017)
A share and follow would be appreciated. Thank you.
My first Valentine situation occurred when I was at primary school in the 1970s. A girl came up to me as I was about to leave for home and handed me an envelope with a valentine card inside. She made it clear the card was from her. This action broke the anonymity rule of valentines in a big way. More importantly, it was a gesture that had to be reciprocated. And I would not be able to use the ‘don't-know-who-I’m-supposed-to-reciprocate-to’ excuse. The girl lived near me so I could deliver the Valentine in person. However, my home was miles from town and we didn’t have a car, so there was no chance of buying a card on the day – and that meant trouble as this was Valentine’s Day.
My mother learned of my predicament as soon as I arrived home. She thought for a moment, then went to a drawer and pulled out a selection of ancient birthday and Christmas cards. One of them apparently served as both a birthday and Christmas card for it had roses and sprigs of holly on its cover. It was huge, too big to be placed in an ordinary envelope. Inside, a personal message had been written on the page opposite the card’s verse. My mother carefully removed the handwritten part, leaving a greeting that wished the recipient ‘…a joyous day and peace throughout the coming year’.
Maybe, just maybe, this would pass as a Valentine – if the girl didn’t notice that it was a twenty-year-old, second-hand Christmas card that came delivered in a tatty shopping bag. Later, I knocked on her door; she answered and I handed her the shopping bag. She pulled the card out and proceeded to gaze at it, her face full of delight. This left me with the (incorrect) impression that women are easily pleased.
A few years and a new girlfriend later, my shyness had made buying a Valentine card in person difficult, so I asked a friend if they would purchase one for me. I soon learned that asking this friend to buy a Valentine came with a major drawback: Their taste in cards didn’t match mine – or any other human. The chosen card featured a vintage car on the cover which made it look suspiciously like something a woman would send to a man. I posted the Valentine and hoped the girl was a fan of vintage cars.
My friend was called into action again the following year. My previous girlfriend – who had not turned out to be a fan of vintage cars – had left me and I needed one for my new sweetheart. Surely this time, the Valentine would be more relevant than one displaying an old banger. Surely not. This card had an elephant on its cover. An elephant. They are wonderful creatures, but in my opinion, elephants come just above Wookiees near the bottom of the romantic animal league. Although it was a humorous card, I wasn’t laughing – and neither was my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.
In an effort to stop girls deserting me, I decided to buy my own cards from then on. And I made sure that I never, ever gave a Valentine that featured an elephant driving an old car with a sprig of holly on the bumper.
© John E. McBride (2017)
A share and follow would be appreciated. Thank you.
Sunday 3 September 2017
Supreme Fools
The following piece is about a serious subject – racism. Although it has a lighthearted tone, it is not my intention to disrespect or offend the victims of prejudice.
I don’t understand those who advocate white supremacy. Its followers can't claim to be the best when clearly they’re the worst when it comes to learning from history. If only they could see that their own worst enemies are, in fact, themselves.
Take the Ku Klux Klan. They may claim that people who are ‘not like them’ are taking all their jobs. However, they ignore the real reason they can’t get work: nobody is going to employ a person who shows up at an interview looking like they belong on the ghost train at a fairground.
You would think that all this feeling superior business would make racists smug – but, if anything, they are nearly always angry. I’ve found one possible explanation for this. The KKK have members called Grand Dragons and Imperial Wizards. They must be driven mad (in every sense of the word) because they can’t decide whether they’re racists or wannabe extras in a Harry Potter movie.
And staying on the Klan, I’d like to ask a final question: why all this fondness for K-words? In their twisted world, is the letter ‘C’ inferior to ‘K’? If so, then it’s time they became aware of the fact that all letters are created equally. And it’s surely time they realised the same rule of equality also applies to humans.
John E. McBride (2017)
Before you go, I would appreciate a share and follow. Thank you.
I don’t understand those who advocate white supremacy. Its followers can't claim to be the best when clearly they’re the worst when it comes to learning from history. If only they could see that their own worst enemies are, in fact, themselves.
Take the Ku Klux Klan. They may claim that people who are ‘not like them’ are taking all their jobs. However, they ignore the real reason they can’t get work: nobody is going to employ a person who shows up at an interview looking like they belong on the ghost train at a fairground.
You would think that all this feeling superior business would make racists smug – but, if anything, they are nearly always angry. I’ve found one possible explanation for this. The KKK have members called Grand Dragons and Imperial Wizards. They must be driven mad (in every sense of the word) because they can’t decide whether they’re racists or wannabe extras in a Harry Potter movie.
And staying on the Klan, I’d like to ask a final question: why all this fondness for K-words? In their twisted world, is the letter ‘C’ inferior to ‘K’? If so, then it’s time they became aware of the fact that all letters are created equally. And it’s surely time they realised the same rule of equality also applies to humans.
John E. McBride (2017)
Before you go, I would appreciate a share and follow. Thank you.
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