Terror-Ready or Game Hosts?

Image: London Olympic Village

It’s good to be back. I took an unexpected sojourn through ill health, moving house and decorating. But I have returned and I’m ready to vent my spleen once again …
I’d like to state up front that should any of the readers be easily offended, affronted by my straightforwardness, or just irked by my honesty, feel free to either write me about it or read someone else’s article.

I’ve noticed that the more we boost the terrorist-awareness in this country, the more the government campaigns for the 2012 Olympics to be held in London.

Either ole Tone knows the secret about when this conflict is going to end or doesn’t care that the two events might possibly conflict.

Hell we can’t even guarantee the security of our garden sheds let alone the metropolis!

I mean, is anyone else puzzled by the contradiction of being forced to spend tax payers money on indefinite extra security measures should the fanatics carry out an attack on the capitol and yet at the same time hoping to host the largest sporting event in the world – on the very same spot?
Call me a kill-joy but perhaps our newly, albeit marginally, elected Prime Minister should pick a camp. Either we are terror-ready or we are game hosts. And when we can’t even afford enough policemen to protect our local cities how are we supposed to find the money to look after the several thousand visitors the games are sure to attract?
Hell we can’t even guarantee the security of our garden sheds let alone the metropolis!

Image: Hoody

I have a confession to make … I wore a hoody! In fact, I wore one all day long to protect me from the rain and wind while out shopping … completely forgetting, mind you, that such an item of clothing – regardless of the weather – is now considered to be the uniform of criminals!
However, despite my forgetfulness, I still noticed that I was stared and glared at.
In my ignorance I thought perhaps the peculiar attention was due to me wearing a jacket while everyone else was in shorts, tank-tops and flip-flops. Or, I supposed that maybe I looked odd because I was also wearing sunglasses. Or possibly it was that the onlookers were jealous that I had predicted the weather better than they!

I actually managed to wear the damned thing without ever once succumbing to the urge to spit, swear or cause a nuisance to fellow pedestrians.

Anyway, not until I returned home and happened to catch an item on the local news did I realise my boob. I had inadvertently donned the costume of the troublemaker. I had unintentionally made myself into a gang member by covering my head in a hoody. I had joined the ranks of the miscreants!
But shocking though it may seem, I actually managed to wear the damned thing without ever once succumbing to the urge to spit, swear or cause a nuisance to fellow pedestrians – not to mention, I also kept dry.
Yet what really makes the entire event so absurd is not that I survived without being lynched for my oversight, it’s that, despite my age (lets just say I’m old enough to be a grandmother), I was still treated as though by simply wearing the innocent item of clothing I had wilfully sided with the hoods, the delinquents, the felons. No one took into consideration that I might just be someone who owned a hood for practical purposes and chose to wear it. Not even my obvious age afforded me absolution.
The moral of this story; Maybe it isn’t the clothes a pain-in-the-ass wears. It isn’t the tattoos, the colours, the backward caps or the multiple piercings that makes a youth a reprobate … ever thought it might just be the person themself?

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