Entering the real world
Not unlike Jeremy Clarkson I seem to have been caught out on my blog ‘My wife the nudist.’ First in the queue is my wife who has reminded me in no uncertain terms that the past is another country and please refrain from sharing the details of our private life with all and sundry. Noted. Second in the queue are readers who think I did not go far enough as they wanted some titillating stories and felt misled by the title of the blog in that they did not get such stories. Some are even threatening to report me to the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission for misleading conduct under Section 18 of the Competition and Consumer Act 2010.
I therefore wish to make an apology. Now that’s over we can move on.
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I have been reading in the shower again. This time it is my own shower. My shampoo bottle tells me that the shampoo will bring ‘pleasure to all your senses.’ I will try anything once and so taking a swig I found I was frothing at the mouth not unlike some of my friends when you mention the Green Party. Now I know I must have been a West Ham supporter all along.
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They are at it again. Whom might you ask? It’s the AI crowd. A few months ago you may remember I was targeted online by Femfresh and their vulval products. This time I am being targeted for hijabs. I kid you not. Luckily this is prescient as I plan to visit France this year where the burqa is banned by law. I am deeply affronted by this prohibition on personal freedoms and with some friends we plan to walk down the Champs Elysee in burqas to see if we will be arrested. I might replace the burqa headdress with a hijab, but I have a difficult choice to make on the colour: black, blue or pink?
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I am in Los Angeles for a week. It’s a bit of a shock to experience the press of humanity. Like some sad internet troll working from home, I am used to the solitary experience of teaching our young online so my contact with humanity is fairly restricted.
The trip bought back memories. The security screening at Adelaide Airport at first glance seemed to be little changed. With false knees I was dragged off to the side to be separately scanned leaving my possessions on the conveyor belt to be filched by all and sundry. Suggesting to the ‘scanner’ that they should have an all-over body scanner, as they do in Cairns, he pointed me to the security channel to the right. The all-over body scanner was at the end of the Special Needs channel. I had not realised I am now a man of special needs though I am sure my friends would disagree.
At least this was better than the last time I had my knees manually checked at Adelaide Airport. I was taken aside by the ‘scanner’ who adopted a demeanour of one who was about to save the planet. Not content with just scanning me he looked me in the eye suggestively and asked if I would like to put my foot on the thigh of his bent leg. Strangely enough I declined the offer though I had a good idea of where I was going to put my foot if he did not get a move on. He then asked if I would like to go into a private room with him. I think I might have suggested that he might like to get some psychiatric advice as hell would have to freeze over first. I may well have laced this advice with a liberal dose of references to human genitalia. Though it was a while ago so I couldn’t possibly comment.
While I got upgraded to Business coming to Sydney my companion in the next seat was some aged chap even more grizzled than me. He seemed perplexed by the concept of personal space and emotional intelligence in general. The first instance of this was blowing his nose with such force that he was blowing raspberries from what was probably his nose but sounded like his mouth as well. At least he did not avail himself of his other bodily cavities.
He then proceeded to chat up a Hosty who defensively backed into a corner of the galley behind a trolley and tried politely to listen to his ramblings on how to rear chickens. His piece de resistance was putting his jacket on while seated next to me. Unable to get his arm in the sleeve, his arm flailed around wildly and in the process came within two inches of my chest and then my nose. Luckily a Hosty helped him with his jacket but even then he managed to punch me on the arm. Not the merest flicker that he appreciated his indiscretions. God, it’s good to be back in the land of the living again.