The First Stone

Some people like me, some people don't like me. In fact, some people have threatened me with physical violence as they hide safe behind their computer screens. That's fair enough and only right and proper. The trouble is, the people who don't like me are like parasites who eventually kill their host and subsequently find they have nowhere else to go except back under their rather insignificant stones.

I've been accused of all sorts over the years, some of it true, but most of it false. Okay, my Piggott Place blogs didn't appeal to everyone but you can't please all of the punters all of the time.

I realise that sometimes my imagination has taken us away from reality - what's wrong with that in this depressing, cold and heartless day and age? Hardly a crime, I think.

That said, I have written on all manner of subjects and been honest and truthful about how I see this world of ours. My last blog called 'Words' was a little piece that meant nothing much except for what I was thinking at the time. I have been suffering with an eye affliction for the last two years and continue to do so. I don't ask for sympathy and don't expect to receive any because that's life, unfortunately.

My blog colleague, Andy Barrow, continues to write his blog and detail his sporting activities and achievements. Andy is not only a great writer, he is also an extremely gallant bloke. However, I am not Andy.

I find it more than unsettling that a certain unsavoury element of society has decided to visit my blog on a regular basis but, at the same time, I am glad. After all, I dug them out, didn't I? You know who I'm talking about, I'm sure. Perhaps they are irked that we failed to win the World Cup bid and feel disappointed that they won't have an excuse to cover their houses in yet more England flags. Well, that ain't my problem, is it?

Anyone with an ounce of decorum will tell you that a house covered in red and white not only looks common but also creates an air of menace for neighbours who don't want - or need - patriotism shoved down their throats 365 days of the year. It's simply not British, old chaps. The majority of homeowners would prefer it if these louts tended their gardens a bit more often and perhaps planted some nice roses instead of flagpoles. Ah, the rose - how English.

The truth of the matter is that a small minority of this country are gung-ho, ignorant, repellent, racist, narrow-minded and bigoted. Their lives are so boring, dull and lacking in excitement that the opportunity to appear 'English' is sadly and ominously odious to those of us who don't need to prove ourselves to the world. We don't all have to play 'Gangs of New York' and go out on the street to stake our claims in this country. If you work, pay taxes and help your family, friends and neighbours, that is sufficient for the majority of us, thanks very much all the same.

It's a bit like religion. I am not religious whatsoever, but I have 'Christian' values. That doesn't mean I have to attend church once a week to prove it - I don't need to. I wonder how many readers actually took the trouble to ask an elderly neighbour if they needed anything during the last bout of snow. I know I certainly did but I don't expect to go to Heaven for it and I definitely don't believe it gives me the right to sin - unlike Catholics who sin six days of the week and then grovel on the seventh.

Who was it who said, 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone'? Perhaps it was me.

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