While we’re on the subject of Jewish ladies, “thevegancook” has started a new blog where she describes her conversion to Judaism. Only one post so far but it promises to be a good read at the very least.
There’s something about Jewish ladies I like, and I mean Orthodox Jewish ladies.
I’ve had an eye for them for more than fifteen years now. I know perfectly well they’re on a completely different plane to me. They live to a strict interpretation of the Torah and their society, their culture and their way of life are all but out of reach for me. I would only have a chance with them if I converted to Judaism, in the United Synagogue. And even then, their rules forbid a man to accost a woman.
All I know is, as things stand with me, my chances of befriending a Jewish lady are about a hair’s breadth away from zero. And the possibility of marrying one, well, think of 10 to the power of -500 and multiply it by 0.
So why do I find them so attractive? They dress very plainly in very sombre colours, black, grey, navy blue. And I’ve never seen any of them with the merest trace of make-up, not even lip gloss.
It is this strict dress code that lets their true beauty shine out in a way that high fashion women’s dress does not and cannot. And it’s not just the ladies’ dress and manners that attract me, Their whole way of life is different, the papers they read, the music they listen to, the shops where they buy their groceries, their diet, their strict hygiene habits, the kind of work they do and, of course, their strict adherence to Judaism are all a world away from society as a whole.
A Jewish lady would look absurdly out of place among a group of catwalk queens. But to me, her plain, no-nonsense dress and her humble and quiet demeanour makes all the others look tacky, vapid and soulless.
On Bank Holiday Monday, as a little extra birthday treat, Mum took me to the races at Downpatrick Race Course. Now, how should I describe my day? On the whole I enjoyed it.
I liked the general atmosphere of the place. And since it was Ladies’ Day, there was no paucity of ladies dressed up to the nines. There was no barrier or exclusive box to separate the nobs from the hoi-polloi and the ladies were free to circulate among the riff-raff.
Two things made it a less than ideal day for them. First was the weather, an overcast and blustery day with temperatures struggling to get above 15°C. Not what one would expect at Epsom or Royal Ascot. The other was their footwear. Some arbitrary and downright stupid rule dictates that ladies must wear high-heel pumps at all times, whether on solid concrete, on a deep gravel surface or on soft turf. It’s especially hard on ladies who don’t normally wear high heels. They don’t feel good, and, as I say, if you don’t feel good, you’re not going to look good.
I liked watching the races, but I’ve been reminded why I don’t gamble. If the horse you back doesn’t come anywhere in the race then your money is gone. And then there’s all the terminology and all the rules that come with it, odds, totes, placepots… I’ve never been interested and I’m not interested now. I’m well aware that gambling is endemic to racing. One can’t exist without the other, but there are so many better things to fritter away your precious money on, such as food.
I’ve just come back from a slap-up meal at Denvir’s and a drink at the Quoile Tavern. I feel as though I’ve just swallowed a cannon ball.
Right, I’ve had time to sort out my thoughts into something remotely coherent. And these are my thoughts…
I’ve been following this trouble ever since it started, gradually getting angrier and angrier. I’ve been listening to half-wit politicians and social workers rabbiting on about why youths are doing what they’re doing. The apologists for those scumbags drivel on about deprivation and alienation of Britain’s youth. That is complete claptrap.
If you take a look inside the homes of these “deprived and alienated” youths you’ll find the latest widescreen plasma TVs, computers with broadband, PS3 and Xbox consoles, not to mention the latest fashions and mobile phones, Blackberries, yet! And they say they’re POOR?!?
You scumbags who are so “disadvantaged and alienated” have no idea what real poverty is and you have no notion of what it’s really like to be alienated. Poverty? You’ll find a wealth of that in the shanty towns of Brazil, Argentina and Mexico, and everywhere in sub-Saharan Africa. Alienation? Look at the Coptic Christians of Egypt or the Palestinians in Jerusalem. You’ve got numerous opportunities to do something about your life that don’t involve rioting and looting. Heck, you’ve even got the right to vote in the UK. Have you even the remotest idea of how many people around the world are fighting and being persecuted for that basic right?
You also complain that they’ve got no jobs. Well, how is destroying your community going to solve anything? Who’s going to invest any time or money into your area to create jobs and wealth after what you’ve done to it?
And what about the parents, or the guardians of these brats? Do they not know how to discipline their kids? Have they given up on them? Are they too caught up in their own petty problems to even care? Do they only care about EastEnders and who’s doing what to whom on Big Brother?
And the police! They’re the worst offenders! If they’d done what they were supposed to be doing on Sunday night, that is, hit the troublemakers hard and fast and crush the disturbance, there wouldn’t be anything like the chaos we’ve had since then. The disorder would have been contained to that one corner of the capital and everyone else could get on with the next day, business as usual.
As it is, almost the whole of England has been affected by the chaos in one way or another, and all because the police were bound up in bureaucratic rules and politically-correct recommendations, all of which has made them afraid of being subject to pubic enquiry. The riot police are there to stop riots, not ponce about with some limp-wristed softly-softly frippery. If I’d been in charge of that squad in Tottenham that night and saw the softly-softly tactics weren’t working, I would have ordered my men to stop faffing about, just run in and bust some skulls. Then those looters would think twice before getting up to any sort of disorder in future.
And if any weedy politician or journalist tried to take me to task for ignoring the guidelines and flouting PC convention, I’d say, “You take my place, then, and see if you’ve got the gumption to confront a rioting mob. Then we’ll see how well you get on!”
England used to be my favourite country, without exception. I saw it as a place where I could be free to be the best I could be, without any of the idiotic religious and sectarian rules, restrictions and hatred that blighted my childhood in Northern Ireland. But look at what England has become now, a nation of feral, brainless, gabbling scum on one side, and on the other a class of palsied, timid, toothless wretches. All I can say is, I’m glad I’m no longer part of it.
I’m not going to post detailed entry until all this mayhem is over. It affects me because it’s happening in the city where I was born and where I spent twenty years of my life.
I have one thing to say about it now. It’s a comment that turned up on the BBC’s live feed at 11:18am this morning.
Rob, London writes: You create a society where vastly overpaid footballers and models can flaunt their wealth and behave in any manner they see fit, and are still treated as near gods by the media. You lead our youth to expect instant fame and wealth, and instead they get unemployment, poverty, and no future. And now you act surprised when they revolt.
Spot on, Rob!