The Strange Power Of Speech or Talking Bollocks

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Many of us go on about freedom of speech. The right to say what we think and all that. Most realize that freedom of speech does not include the incitement of hatred nor violence. That is a given but, what is not a given is what qualifies as freedom of speech and what does not.

Take my mother for example. Please, somebody, take her, anywhere.

When I go up north to see her I sometimes have an evening out with pals from up there.

“I’m going out mother,” I say.

“What if somebody rings? What shall I say?” she asks.

“Er, tell them I’ve gone out?”

That’s the problem with being allowed to say almost anything. People do say almost anything and often make no sense what so ever.

“I wish it was warm and summery,” say many in the winter, usually preceded by “It’s far too cold now”.

Summer arrives and “It’s far too hot”.

“Do you think it will rain?” asked my wife one day. “When did you mistake me for somebody who can predict the weather?” was my sensible reply, followed by a glare from her. A glare? What am I, a bloody weather diviner or something? How do I know if it’s going to rain?

“Mrs. Epplethwaite passed yesterday” announced my mother on a trip up north.
“Who?”
“You know, Mrs. EPPLETHWAITE!” My mother invariably believes if she merely says a name louder everyone will instantly know who the hell she is on about.
“Never heard of her,” I said honestly
“You have! She lived up by the old gas works on Huddersfield Road”
“I didn’t know there had ever been gas works on Huddersfield Road”
“Yes, you did!”
“Firstly mother, I didn’t and secondly, I have no idea who Mrs bloody Epplethwaite is, or in this case, was.”

At which point my mother sulked.

See? The freedom to talk absolute garbage in the firm belief that you are talking sense.

I know lots of people get up in arms when people start going on about immigrants and so forth. I do go on a bit I know. I do seem especially fed up with the amount of Islam in Britain, or, at least, the bit I live in.

In my defense though, I’ve never incited hatred or violence.

Besides, when it comes to freedom of speech, personally, I am far more alarmed at the gibberish people speak than anything that may or may not cause offence.

Things said that cause offence are often not repeated by decent people as they didn’t mean to cause offence. They may even retract what they have said.

It’s the mundane that bothers me. Well, to be more accurate gets right on my nerves.

We had a cat when I was a kid. I vividly remember getting a slap on the head once when my mother announced that she had ‘put the cat out’. “Who set it on fire?” I asked and along came the slap. I suppose I was a cheeky little git. Still, ‘put the cat out’? Daft.

My dad came home from work once and got drenched in a heavy downpour of rain.

“It’s that fine rain that soaks you through” he announced. “It’s water dad. All the water will make you wet”. I didn’t get a slap as it was my dad and he didn’t slap.

“Anyway”, I continued, “through what?”
“Through what? What do you mean?” asked my dad innocently
“Well, you said the rain soaked you through. Through what? A sieve? An umbrella with a hole in it?”

My dad just shook his head and walked away.

It’s just that it drives me nuts! Why can’t people make sense when they talk?

The magnificent Peter Kay summed it all up succintly.

Before he became one of Britains most loved comedians he worked in a store. A store over here is like Americas Walmart just so you know.

Armed robbers came in. One pointed a shotgun at Peter Kay and said: “Get down!”

Kays response was “What? You mean dance?”

See? Why can’t people think before they speak?

“It’s not as warm when it isn’t summer” – Really? Get away!

Mind you, sometimes people speaking gibberish isn’t irritating at all. It can be classic.

Many moons ago, football club West Ham United had a player called Julian Dicks. He was highly regarded at the club.

On one glorious occasion, a West Ham game was being broadcast live on the radio.

Julian Dicks had a particularly fine game. So fine that at one point the radio commentator announced –

“Julian Dicks is everywhere for West Ham. It’s like they have eleven dicks on the pitch!”

I kid you not.

We have freedom of speech. We sometimes forget that includes the freedom to talk bollocks. I am, incidentally, an expert. 😀

In case you missed it: The Awful Age of Bits Falling Off

About Post Author

Neil Bamforth

I am English first, British second and never ever European. I have supported Oldham Athletic FC for 50 years which has made me immune from depression. My taste buds have died due to too many red hot curries so I drink Kronenburg beer and milk - sometimes in the same glass. I have a wife, daughter, 9 cats and I like toast.

fourdinners14223647@aol.com