Most Beaker Folk didn't take a 10 ton sarsen stone to work yesterday, despite my Strongly Worded Instruction. I will therefore have to apply my strongest possible sanction - the Rent Rise. This is of course strictly voluntary. Very strictly voluntary.
I'm giving dispensation to Ardwig, however. She did take her sarsen to work, but her manager immediately told her to remove it. He said it was Health and Safety, but there was absolutely no H+S issue. How could there be? Her delivery van was going nowhere with that sarsen in it - no danger to anyone at all.
No, I suspect what we have here is a case of Political Correctness Gone Mad. We Beaker Folk are being persecuted in case the Corded Ware Folk also start demanding to bring their religious symbols to work. Mind you, this being the severed heads of their enemies, I could understand it.
Ardwig is going in to work today with a very tasteful sarsen lapel pin. Let's see White Van People Ltd try to ban that - the fascists.
A sarsen a day keeps the Saracens away?
ReplyDeleteI took the still-beating heart of my sacrificed enemy into work yesterday, but as I was working from home it wasn't an issue.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to start taking my laptop, phone and sprint planning whiteboard into church services, it's only fair... ;)
ReplyDeleteI would take all of those and more into work, but sadly, I don't have any. No, I'm not one of the feckless, work shy generations so beloved of the Daily Smell, rather I am retired Gentry (of a sort). An Ex-Army Officer.
ReplyDeleteBeing from the slums of East London, I was pleasantly surprised that I was to retire as a Major. This gives me all sorts of privileges. People believe that you are Gentry, particularly if you dress scruffy (expected, dress down from Gentry) and speak with a fake East London Accent (If it's good enough for Nigel Kennedy, why not). Although, I must admit that it has grown rather suburban after years of Army Service, particularly following my painful induction into the Officers Mess from 'The Ranks' as it is described, snootily by Ex-Eton and Ex-Sandhurst Career snobs. Late Entry Officers as some kind civil servant dreamed at the Ministry of Defence to stop this sort of discrimination.
Anyway, back to privileges.
I'm often offered the opportunity to go riding, hunting or shooting. The fact that I've never been on a horse, hunted a fox or shot a peasant (sorry, pheasant) doesn't seem to matter. You'll soon get the hang of it being the cry.
Another privilege is being offered all sorts of memberships. The Golf Club (automatically on the committee) which has a long waiting list, has asked. I had to decline as I only ever played Hockey and while hitting a ball with a stick seems somehow aligned, Army Hockey consists of hitting the opposition with a stick and hope that you might even hit the ball once or twice in a match. And hitting your partner over the head with a No 4 Iron on the third, seems to draw lip sucking disapproval from other members. So I declined.
Other membership opportunities abound. I could be a member of the Conservative (or at a push UKIP) club and be among my fellow, ex's or even newly rich. I decided that as my politics are a bit to the left of Arch Bishop Rowan Williams that seemed a little unsuitable. I settled for the Green Party. Well meaning people, mainly public servants or social workers with a conscience, who talk about all sorts of worthy things, and go on civilised protests with CND and their like. The social life isn't great as their Green Tea and no fags policy, seems a bit drab, but my vegetarian leanings are supported even one or two well meaning worthies trying to convince me that there is a Vegan in me trying to get out.
I am a member of a local government forum, have been asked to go on the Parish Council and PCC and various committees for charities and the like. Being deferred to and addressed with respect by mere mortals, seems such a privilege, given my under privileged start in life and hard climb up the greasy pole of military success, only reach the Officer Mess to discover that you are the oldest spotty Subaltern in the world. At age 40+, having been top of the soldier tree, you are kowtowing to snotty Senior Lieutenant's and Captain's half your age, who are year or so before, you were training to be proper officers.
Than there is the church. The church is the real leveller. No matter who you are, or what your status in life is, there you are just a parishioner. You are looked down from great heights by Arch Bishops, Bishops, Arch Deacons, various flavours of Canon's, Clergy, Church Wardens, PCC members, the Choir and even the Acolytes, ranging in age from 6 to 60. Ah, at long last, I've found a place that brings back my childhood.
I'm Loving it!!!!
By the way, if you believe anything I write, you deserve a tour as a Subaltern in any Officers Mess you like.
Gurdur - your play on words has more reality than you perhaps know. Thomas Chippindale in his lovely "Stonehenge Complete" remarks that the old word for sarsens was "saracens" - as you can see from this link.
ReplyDeleteChippindale suggests the allusion is that these large blocks of hard stone laying around on Salisbury Plain's soft white chalk are as out of place as the saracens would be.
Steve - as you know, our Agile Worship turned into a complete shambles.
Bill - at least "bring your child to work" day would be no problem.
UKViewer - what can I say? I mean, what can I say?