Archive for the ‘Catholicism’ Category

What Should I Do? (Reblog)

March 16, 2013

Somewhere across the Big Pond they often advise trial lawyers to avoid asking questions of witnesses on the stand unless they are sure of the answer.  A Texan gentleman by the rather peculiar name of Alphonsus Jr. might consider applying such advice to other areas of his life, such as his interactions with complete strangers on the internet.

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Alphonsus Jr.

MAR 07, 2013 @ 20:52:02
Your links don’t work.

Incidentally, you appear to be on a crusade against Theodore Dalrymple. I keep seeing you in com boxes speaking against him. Kindly explain.

Incidentally, have you ever hired a surgical hitman to commit surgical infanticide?

If ‘Alphonsus Jr.’ had conducted some research before he asked this rather unpleasant, ungentlemanly question he may have stumbled across my Catholic origins.  I certainly stumbled across his.  Just a word of advice ‘Junior’, abortion is a mortal sin, having oneself tattooed isn’t.

I asked my wise old 95 year old neighbour (ex RAF, paramedic, college porter) Nobby Clarke what I should do.

‘Nobby, some American accused me of committing a mortal sin.  What should I do?”

‘And did you commit this mortal sin?’

‘Why, of course not.’

Brief silence.  And then Nobby said ‘Nothing.’

That man is a genius.  Although you’ll note that I did not follow his advice.

Apparently my charming interlocutor has a few identities on da web, including:

Jackson K. Esquire:

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Deconstruction of My Mother

December 3, 2007

She told him about the boy at the end of her street, the one with the overgrown garden permeated by the stench of cat piss.

‘Did he touch you?’ asked Patrick.
‘Yes,’ Wendy replied. ‘He did.’
‘Where?’ he persisted. Later, looking back, Wendy would realize that she was his first psychiatric patient. His blank canvas. He transformed her. Wendy touched her breasts, and her vagina. ‘It happened because my parents were never there, never home. The Rose and Crown – our local pub was my father’s second home. The factory was his second. We came third.. His work kept him just this side of sanity. He worked in a factory. There was camaraderie on that assembly line, he used to say. There was camaraderie on the picket line too.

She was his chameleon; his Eliza Doolittle.. Under his tutilige she became glamorous, vivacious, intelligent, creative, charming. Or, at least, that’s what Patrick told her. Before he asked her to marry him. She had got what she came for – the status and privileges that come with being a doctor’s wife.

In the end Wendy became an unpaid actress. The whole world was her stage and their family and friends were the co-stars.

On the night before she died Cynthia’s bedtime story had been The Water Babies.

They found her face down, floating in the lake.

In Response to the Tories’ U-turn on Grammar Schools

May 24, 2007

This seems to have caused something of a furore.

I’ll wager that the average grammar school was more intellectually and socially diverse than my Catholic school which had an unfortunate habit of selection via the backdoor. (With lots of emotional consequences for the pupils of that school even if they did go on to excel in higher education. Catholic Guilt, anyone?)

BTW: Many left-leaning middle class parents of school aged children wriggle out of the dilemma they have created for themselves by reverting to their childhood religion, feigning commitment and sending their children to some Catholic school miles away from their homes which just happens to be highly-placed in the league tables. But they’ll stop at nothing a get their children a ‘decent’ education, whatever the cost, in the long term, to that child’s emotional well-being, while preserving (ostensibly, at least) their political integrity.

They have their cake and devour it with relish.

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