Some People Don’t Have It – Belly Dancing Dignity and EU Membership

Some people don’t have it, others are ravaged by it, and if you can’t tell already – I am referring to the ability to wiggle ones eyebrows independently.

I don’t mean they can wriggle their eyebrows free from express command by higher authorities, more so that they can make the right eyebrow wriggle, as well as it’s sister.

Yes, I do believe that each eyebrow has a gender. My right is a dude, my left is his female fellow.

They are both entirely independent from each other, with separate social circles and professional squares.

Some people can’t do this. But they can dilate their nostrils.

I cannot dilate my nostrils, despite a vast amount of time doing…something (let’s call it ‘effort’) at the bathroom mirror (poor thing).

Both my wife and my boss can do this.

I however, can belly dance; whereas they can’t even watch.

I remember realising I could make my belly roll at a dinner party of my parents. The conversation was flowing, which was a shame as it was so dull, and I found myself as a last resort (forgive me, only being a young child, I was not mature enough to be so bored).

So, I just wondered if I could command my stomach to flip-flop in a manner that might cause halt to the conversation that was flowing like the dribble that such drivel rhymes with, and then I did it.

Soon I was on the table, feet amongst potatoes (as a young boy should – though normally not mashed), and tummy in the air, like a patriot of physiology and very keen to continue.

And things really haven’t changed since.

The belly dance is a tremendous tool as it is both as conversation stooped and starter – this being why I call it ‘corking’.

Some fellow of mine might be conversing at me, very face-first, about Brexit. I then say “Hey pal, look at midriff” and he’ll respond with: “Wowee Sam, good for you! It’s like Brexit, right? And another thing…”

I must admit my belly dance has been ineffective against Brexit and its constant production of dull argument, though I persist.

I belly dance in the face of democracy.

The problem with democracy is that it enables a majority of people to make a really bad decision.

That follows with a response to my theory, with the counter: “Are you saying that the majority of people are stupid?”

Of course they are, have you met people? Have you met the modern person? The average man in the street…doesn’t. Choose your topic of purposeful action, any at all, because the answer is ‘no they don’t’.

And we’re sinking into a quagmire of circumstance in which the talent of the nation is buggering off, and those that got us into this mess are expecting those whom voted Remain to get us back out of it.

Nevertheless, talent like this guy and his stomach aren’t going anywhere.

Particularly when I want to take a swipe at Remoaners too.

Uninformed of a separate selection of facts, those that berate the majority of the nation, such as I just did, could really do with a bit more experience outside of their preference.

Snobbiness is the worst failing of the British people, and the Remain campaign demonstrated that from the beginning. That is why it failed and that is why it is inherently unlikeable.

One thing that is guaranteed about the Brexiteers is that it has that feeling of blind romantic adventure. “Let’s do this and see what happens! We can make the best of it! Freedom!”

Whilst these sentiments may be based in untruths, the attraction remains – more so than the UK has within Europe.

European membership should have been celebrated whilst we had it. We all benefited, and could have improved our standing too, and now we are without, divided, and horrified by the fact that both sides were right and wrong in an ugly blend of uniformed ignorance and inexperienced ignorance.

Nationalism can be a wonderful thing if we could all have just gotten along.

Your loss. I’m a patriot to the side, proud of the best bits and eager to improve the rest, whilst unashamedly keen to make the most out of things for my neighbour and me.

Britain will be easy pickings for a belly dancer like me, beginning with the number one industry in the UK.

Drizzle.

Not just a rainy mist apparently named by Snoop Dog, but a source of national unity akin to red phone booths, bizarre humour, bad teeth, and a reaction of chat-ceasing awe in the face of my belly dancing.

The drizzle industry is going to make a killing this year, and I want a piece of that soggy pie.

Patriots will have it shipped in, using it to obscure their neighbours, keep the laundry soggy like a Briton, and mystify the Mrs in association with a stiff upper lip and stiffer stiffy.
And it is during this kind of conversation you and I are having (thanks for contributing) in which I as a youngster first found cause and ability to belly dance.

I’m sure, whilst taking part in this conversation today, you’ve already found yourself trying it too.

Good job, see you on the drizzly other side.

Sam

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Reasons to Stay in the EU, Reasons to Fight on. Referendum; Before and After

THE BEFORE

Why stay in the EU?

By the way, I’m not campaigning; I’m pleading.

Having come back recently from Italy and noticing the ubiquity of EU flags outside commercial centres and all government institutions; it would be frightfully embarrassing to explain this to them when next I visit.

How do you not take this personally?

When the Scots threatened and nearly did leave; I took it personally with a worrying proximity to truly meaning the much repeated mantra of “Fuck the Scots”.

And let us maintain the fact that Europeans are not a bunch (a fairly accomplished bunch at that) of folk to insult. Two World Wars and a whole load many more is an indication as to whether or not Euro-Unity is a necessity.

I can picture too easily the heaving shoulders of a Belgian confused and hurt as to why I left him; and I can only say “it’s not you. It’s not me either. It’s fucking Nigel!”

I loathe, with enough depth so state the word “loath” nice and slowly like I mean it, Nigel Farage.

As of then and as of now; he took purple from us.

And I had purple intentions; and only a few of them were throbby.

Mainly revolving around immigration, though less so by fantasising hoards of ‘worringly-brown’ families walking up to me in a dark alley and stealing my job and raping my benefits and far more so about wearing a fairly funky shade of the stuff as I make my way about the planet.

And now purple denotes displeasure towards all other dark shades; particularly skin-wise.

I might feel inclined to omit Europe from my travel from hereon; owing to being English and quite ‘simply’, ‘terribly’ and ‘awfully’ (not to mention ‘ever so quite rather’) embarrassed if that’s not too imposing thank you please sorry.

Similar to when travelling around any country where incredibly dangerously English is not the first-language and you are happened upon by a regrettable local regrettably insisting on some back-and-forth tongue wagging and all you can muster (in a manner as though protecting your family) is: “I’m sorry; I’m English”. Essentially translating as “I’m sorry…I’m English…I just can’t…”

Because I’m European.

THE AFTER

I feel you’ll be able to tell the change in my demeanour; from dainty absurdist of luxury to…now…melancholy.

Perhaps I should have written more with an aim to convince in the hope of at least 1 chap happening upon it and from then seek to Remain.

And there are things that will be missed, and things we shall surely flinch at.

An economic dip (dipped in shit); forecast to upset even Eskimos.

A decline in international influence (we were an effective and moral country and now we can accomplish less for the world).

The future of generations only young are tarnished by the moral fibre of our elders; whilst the efforts of our even-elders are admonished (how could we have betrayed that corner of those foreign fields that are for ever England?) so as to indulge cowardice and ignorance at the hands of demagogue profiteers.

In a world of in dire thirst for unity, even less than that sacrifice of our European brothers and sisters; we have betrayed ourselves and the as-one spirit that can only come from a world of noble individuality.

From here; there is one way forward.

The absolute and merciless progression of compassion for one and all.

Outstanding or nothing.

The forging of great days or bust.

Though it is odd we are doing this now, not for our children, but for our grandchildren, such are the repercussions.

Epic-up Great Britain; for we now have no option but to save the world.

Ridiculous; isn’t it?

Good.

Fuck Nigel.

Sam