"No no no!"
Jan. 10th, 2007 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
webofevilA recent survey had around 63 per cent of Britons counting themselves as secular, while even more recently 82 per cent of us reckoned religion was “divisive”. Let’s see the numbers after last night’s showing outside Parliament—my money’s on a slight rise in the divisionistas. Please God.
“They’ll make us print gay filth!” claimed evangelical opponents of the Sexual Orientation Regulations.
“Only if you’re already printing heterosexual filth,” came the written answer.
“They’ll make us convert our children into gay paedos!” claimed the evangelicals.
“Is there someone else we could talk to?” replied the secularists.
At about 5.45 there were maybe 300 of them, though they were making enough noise for twice that many. Their numbers swelled to the high hundreds as the evening went on. Alternatively, according to the following impartial observer, everyone in Parliament failed to notice that five thousand people had shown up:
“Are they saying, ‘It’s all wrong! No no no!’?” said my friend, brow furrowed.
“I’ll be honest,” I replied, “all I’m hearing is, ‘It’s your bum! No no no!’”
Of course, after that, that was all either of us could hear. But then, to judge by certain contributors to the debate that was going on in the building, bums were the sole point of contention anyway:
That whole Tebbit/sodomy interface. Has anyone ever taken him aside and explained that many gay men just don’t do that? And that, conversely, some straight couples do? In fact, his obsession isn’t really even funny any more. It’s just a one-man freakshow, like the old boy who used to hang around outside Waterloo station, yelling and swiping furiously at invisible enemies.
When I first moved to London I rented a room in a house belonging to friends of the family. They had five cats. Occasionally the only female cat would suddenly be on heat. At those times, when there were just women in the house she’d be fine, but the moment there was a man around she would transform into a crazed, crawling, yowling goblin, entering your room slowly and backwards to give you the best possible view. The door to my room didn’t shut properly so I would have to sit there, trying to concentrate on an essay or a translation, while this rampant changeling, which vaguely resembled a prim, fastidious cat I otherwise knew, would rub its engorged parts against my leg, begging to be satisfied. This was so unsettling and off-putting that eventually one evening I found myself sighing and idly wondering, “If I just took this pencil...”
I didn’t, of course I didn’t. But these thoughts can flash across your mind if you’re driven to it. And my point is, I’m at exactly that stage with Norman Tebbit. Seriously, would it satisfy his curiosity—would it shut him up—if I just took this pencil...?
“They’ll make us print gay filth!” claimed evangelical opponents of the Sexual Orientation Regulations.
“Only if you’re already printing heterosexual filth,” came the written answer.
“They’ll make us convert our children into gay paedos!” claimed the evangelicals.
“Is there someone else we could talk to?” replied the secularists.
At about 5.45 there were maybe 300 of them, though they were making enough noise for twice that many. Their numbers swelled to the high hundreds as the evening went on. Alternatively, according to the following impartial observer, everyone in Parliament failed to notice that five thousand people had shown up:
They sang the odd hymn, they chanted the odd chant. We couldn’t make out the latter. “(Something something something)! No no no!” Repeat.
Have Your Say, bbc.co.uk
“Are they saying, ‘It’s all wrong! No no no!’?” said my friend, brow furrowed.
“I’ll be honest,” I replied, “all I’m hearing is, ‘It’s your bum! No no no!’”
Of course, after that, that was all either of us could hear. But then, to judge by certain contributors to the debate that was going on in the building, bums were the sole point of contention anyway:
Lord Tebbit: ... “black” is about being. Sexual orientation is also about being. We would not wish to discriminate against people for being black or on grounds of their sexual orientation. The concerns being expressed this evening are primarily about sodomy rather than about sexual orientation—that is, doing not being.Lord Tebbit seems to think this is a direct threat in, for example, a high street printer’s. The contested regulations ban businesses from discriminating against gay couples in any walk of life—just as you already can’t discriminate against, for example, Christians. In Lord Tebbit’s dystopian vision, that means gay men will now, en masse, descend upon innocent Christian-run businesses and start having sex right there, in front of the owners’ children, and there will be nothing they can do about it. You couldn’t make it up, etc.
That whole Tebbit/sodomy interface. Has anyone ever taken him aside and explained that many gay men just don’t do that? And that, conversely, some straight couples do? In fact, his obsession isn’t really even funny any more. It’s just a one-man freakshow, like the old boy who used to hang around outside Waterloo station, yelling and swiping furiously at invisible enemies.
When I first moved to London I rented a room in a house belonging to friends of the family. They had five cats. Occasionally the only female cat would suddenly be on heat. At those times, when there were just women in the house she’d be fine, but the moment there was a man around she would transform into a crazed, crawling, yowling goblin, entering your room slowly and backwards to give you the best possible view. The door to my room didn’t shut properly so I would have to sit there, trying to concentrate on an essay or a translation, while this rampant changeling, which vaguely resembled a prim, fastidious cat I otherwise knew, would rub its engorged parts against my leg, begging to be satisfied. This was so unsettling and off-putting that eventually one evening I found myself sighing and idly wondering, “If I just took this pencil...”
I didn’t, of course I didn’t. But these thoughts can flash across your mind if you’re driven to it. And my point is, I’m at exactly that stage with Norman Tebbit. Seriously, would it satisfy his curiosity—would it shut him up—if I just took this pencil...?
