Voodoo Chiles
By Dominic Horton
As I am sure you know sadly an important world figure of our time passed
away this week leaving a gaping void in the lives of many. Rest in peace Lewis Collins, the actor famed
for his role as Bodie in the TV cop series The
Professionals. Nelson Mandela has
also died.
After Mandela’s death was announced on Thursday crowds quickly gathered
outside his home and danced and sang well into the night, causing a right old
racket. This behaviour was deemed to be
perfectly normal in South Africa but it is anathema to us British, who prefer
to leave mourning families be, so such a performance in England would have been
greeted with shouts of “turn it in!” by the deceased’s family followed by cold
buckets of water being thrown from the bedroom window at the revellers below.
Despite all of the wonderful work of Mandela and his successors in South
Africa Lowlife’s South African
reporter, Desmond Dekka, informs me that there is still a lot of racism in the
country despite apartheid coming to an end many years ago. Poverty and financial inequalities are highly
prevalent in South Africa and such inequities are also still very much in
evidence in Britain making it our own form of apartheid but on grounds of class
and not race. British government figures
published in 2009 show that in 2003 1% of the population owned approximately a
fifth of the UK's marketable wealth and half shared only 7% of the total
wealth. Food for thought, and given the
rising use of food banks that I have written about in these pages previously,
food for thought is the only food that some people who are struggling to make
ends meet can afford.
Anyway, it is a little known fact that the whole apartheid system in
South Africa was born out of a simple misunderstanding after a comment by
Nationalist Party leader Daniel Francois Malan prior to the election in 1948,
following which apartheid was officially introduced. Apparently when Malan said “we must separate
the whites from the darks” he was not referring to the ethnicity of the South
African populous but he was dictating a memo to his secretary to be sent to his
wife concerning the laundry. Malan was
fed up of having to wear shirts tinged with pink after they had been washed
with his wife’s frilly red knickers. By
the time the misunderstanding came to light the wheels of apartheid legislation
were in motion and Malan was too embarrassed to say anything and given that he
had the luxury of wearing pristine white shirts by then he didn’t care a jot
anyway.
Unlike when Princess Diana died, the outpouring of emotion and tributes
following Mandela’s demise has been fully justified given the greatness and
international appeal of the man. At
Craven Cottage on Sunday prior to the Fulham Vs Aston Villa match I joined the
other spectators in a minute’s applause to celebrate Mandela’s life and
achievements and I pondered what other figure would command such respect
following her/ his passing (other than Lewis Collins of course.) I
doubt whether even the Queen will be clapped so enthusiastically at football
grounds once she is gone, especially at Celtic Park.
It is odd that when I heard of the news of Mandela’s death the two
things that immediately sprang to mind related back to my home county of the
West Midlands. Firstly, the song Free Nelson Mandela rang around my head
and of course the wonderful pop protest song was written by Jerry Dammers, who
is from Coventry. Secondly, I was
reminded of Mandela’s visit to Ireland in 1990 in order to be awarded Freedom
of the City. Mandela’s landing at Dublin
airport coincided with the return of the Ireland football squad from their
successful campaign at the World Cup Italia ’90 where Paul McGrath (who played
for Aston Villa at the time, hence the West Midlands connection) was one of the
team’s heroes. The Ireland fans had a chant which went, “ooh
aah Paul McGrath” so when Mandela (who looked like an older version of McGrath)
emerged from the plane on the runway the crowd spontaneously started to sing,
“ooh aah it’s Paul McGrath’s Da.”
During his life the great man was immortalised when they decided to name
Del Boy Trotter’s tower block in Peckam Nelson Mandela House but it is
university students who have conspired to ensure that the name of Mandela’s old
mucker Desmond Tutu will be remembered for ever more by referring to a 2:2
degree as a “Desmond.”
As I have alluded to above, after obtaining a weekend pass from the
Pirate at the Flagon & Gorses I partook in a rare trip outside of the
parish of Halesowen and surrounding areas last weekend to visit the Smoke with
Tom Holliday, Desmond Dekka and Gill & Yan Johnett to watch two games of
football and to generally have a bit of a jolly up. I have always thought that London is a
different world from the provisional and sleepy Halesowen and this view was
cemented as soon as I stepped on the tube at Marylebone as a woman on there was
sitting down brushing her teeth. We are
always told that the pace of life in London is relentless but not even having
time to brush one’s teeth before leaving the house is a bridge too far from
civilised behaviour in my estimation. It was not until later that I wondered where
the woman spat out the toothpaste. On
Sunday morning in Fulham three residents were in such a rush to attend to
whatever business they had in hand that they walked the streets in their
pyjamas and dressing gowns and only my fellow Midland cohorts and I seemed
bemused by the sight.
We encountered another strange practice on visiting a restaurant in Fulham
when the waiter served my and Tom’s main meals before he had brought out the
starter. When we queried this he stated
that is what they do there, the meals come out in any old order and another
waiter confirmed this. I am glad that I
didn’t order a dessert as that presumably would have been my starter.
On Thursday the performance of Mother
Goose at Netherton Arts Centre was all in the right order and my dear son
Kenteke and I thoroughly enjoyed the play.
A lovely old Gentleman sat next to us and we got talking in the way that
you do and he announced that he will be 90 years of age come his next
birthday. In the week when the
government announced that the retirement age is to be extended to 70 years of
age I speculated that I am unlikely to see my 90th birthday as gas
prices are rising so steeply that by the time I reach old age the winter fuel
allowance will only pay for one day’s heating so I will most probably freeze to
death. I won’t even be able to keep
warm in the local library as given local authority cut backs it will be long
closed down by then. My lack of savings
or any assets of value together with a miserly work pension means that I am
likely to have a miserable dotage and the thought of larking around Halesowen
for amusement Last of the Summer Wine style
with Tony In-Tents and Chompa Babbee does not appeal.
On the subject of oldies my Flagon associate Harry Stottle has been
compared to Private Godfrey from Dad’s
Army this week by the cruel and teasing Pirate, but what the Pirate doesn’t
realise is that if Stottle is Godfrey it makes him Captain Mainwaring, who of
course was a power crazy buffoon.
Thinking about it, if the Pirate is Mainwaring that means I am Pike but
at least the Pirate referring to me as a “stupid boy” will make a change from
him calling me a ****.
Talking of ****s I was horrified to hear the irritating voice of Adrian
Chiles being broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live’s Drive programme the other day.
Having have got rid of the pompous cretin once it is beyond belief that
the BBC have invited Chiles back after his poor performances as a sports
broadcaster on ITV. I can only imagine
that Chiles must have some dirt on the BBC’s Director General Lord Hall of
Birkenhead, or Tony Hall to give him his less grand moniker. Or maybe the West Bromwich Albion supporting
broadcaster has been practising the occult in order to hoodwink the BBC into
giving him a job again, in which case he would be a Voodoo Chiles. Either way at least if I allow Chiles’s
grating tones to ring around Codger Mansions via the radio it might scare off
the nasty Pesci flies that I told you about last week.
© Dominic Horton, December 2013.
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