Monday, August 06, 2007

Preacher Screecher Kreature

Last week, Thursday I think, I found myself on the Central Line around 10 in the morning, heading in to Liverpool Street from the delightfully leafy slice of green loveliness wherein my Lovely Husband™ and I make our current abode.

There was an old woman sitting a couple of seats along from me. Not very long after she got on, she started "preaching". I think she had some medical problem with her throat, because if she wanted to be heard at all, she had to raise her voice, and when she did, it became a really grating screech. My initial thought was, "poor thing". Then, alas, I began to make out the kind of things she was saying. Not talking to anyone in particular, most people being wary of catching her eye in case she took it as a sign of encouragement, she started spouting all sorts of religious claptrap of the xtian variety, with very few references to anything approaching or resembling orthodox xtian theology. Interspersed with references to god and jeebus were guttural condemnations of lesbians and gay men. It became hard to tell whether she was more interested in letting the world know about her love of god or about her complete and utter hatred and contempt for anyone who doesn't happen to be straight.

Needless to say, this very quickly damped any thoughts of feeling sorry for her. The things she was saying were so vile, so distasteful and so pointlessly offensive, that sympathy dried up and shrivelled on the vine. I feel angry towards whoever brainwashed her into being like that, but that doesn't make me feel sorry for her for being that way; in much the same way that I can still condemn a serial killer whilst also feeling anger towards the people whose abuse or neglect made the killer that way.



We went to Brighton Pride on Saturday, and had a wonderful time. At the entrance to the park, there was a motley group of placard-waving god-botherers, there to tell every attendee about how the wages of sin are death. I wanted to stop and tell them that actually, death is the wage that you get for having lived, regardless of how you did it, but why bother. Surprisingly, at least one of the placard-wavers looked really, really gay himself. The kind who probably just needs a nice big cock up his arse to reset his perspective to something a bit more sensible.

The event itself was great. I caught up with an old work chum with whom I have passed many a tipply evening in a hotel bar. We then met up with other friends and wandered around, enjoying the sunshine (finally), having a bit of a boogie, and eventually heading off to catch a chuff-chuff back to London. I ended up doing some magic for a lesbian couple we met on the train, and I suspect I might be getting a booking out of that, so yay.

And I think that's probably enough stream of consciousness for now.

2 comments:

Tickersoid said...

You've met my ex wife then?

Nick said...

Pride was excellent wasn't it! It was my very first time down in Brighton for Pride, and I was suitably de-flowered by my companions. Friday to Monday of sunshine, hedonism, men and very little sleep... just as well it's only once a year! Shame I didn't bump in to you, I seemed to run in to loads of people I know whilst walking around :-)