Having ‘not my fucking business’ as a mantra to be muttered, sotto voce, when life’s annoyances get in the way has stood me in good stead over the years. Increasingly, however, this methodology is under strain.
People clustered together in tight groups, blocking pavements, while they puff away at cigarettes outside shops or offices: I can cope with that. As a vehement anti-smoker, better that than having them in the same room. Even when their habit means they do less work than their colleagues. Yes, of course, I’m speaking from experience here!
Drinkers who’ve over-indulged, barely able to stand and being objectionable – again, I can cope. NMFB.
Screaming children in supermarkets whose mothers are either deaf or defeated – NMFB.
People who choose to stick a needle in their arm as a means of escape from a world in which they feel they don’t belong – NMFB.
I’ve met hundreds of heroin addicts at close quarters and have usually managed to distance myself from the antisocial nature of their behaviour.
What about when aspects of life impinge on one’s inner core of beliefs? The inconsiderate twats playing Trance Music at distortion levels, at four in the morning outside our hotel room a couple of nights ago; they are very much my business. They turned out to be German lads on a gap year, pissed out of their heads and winding down from yet another evening of heavy drinking and failing to find anyone willing to sleep with them. My rudimentary knowledge of German doesn’t extend to ‘shut the fuck up,’ but the message appeared to be understood.
Yesterday, in the park, I saw two kids, ten-year-olds, throwing stones at duckling chicks on the lake. NMFB? Oh, come on! It’s 2011 so a clip round the ear wasn’t an option, but I took them home after a few harsh words. Two brothers. One cried, one didn’t. This is not a deprived area and the house I took them to had a new Mercedes in the drive. Their mother told me to ‘leave my fucking kids alone and mind your own business.’ The taller boy smirked at me behind his mother’s back.
I know full well those kids will be throwing stones at defenseless chicks, probably today. What can I do about it? Their parents don’t care, why should I?
But, I do.
A good few years back I saw a man punch a woman in the face. In the street. There were plenty of people about. They ignored it. I went over and stopped him doing it. When he tried to hit her again, I punched him. The woman got up off the floor and screamed ‘Leave him alone. ‘Mind your own fucking business.’
I walked away and ‘not my fucking business’ became a mantra. Even so, would I interfere if I saw a woman or a child, or anyone unable to defend themselves, being beaten? Of course I would. Poke my nose in even where it’s not wanted. It’s my nature.
The man who walks his dog past my house, night and morning, has just gone by. I’ve no idea what he feeds that dog, but it has one obvious effect. Great steaming piles of it. In fairness, not always right outside my gate. It just seems that way. I don’t blame the dog. I like the dog and it can’t help crapping. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Does the owner clear it up? Does he hell. Not my fucking business? What do you reckon?
I reckon it’s a fucking good post, Barton.
Long ago,somewhere not far from the modern Cavern Club, I got beaten up in the street by my then boyfriend. I was clearly being hurt (he was not swinging in with fists- too obvious.) One guy stopped and asked, “You all right love?” BF had a grip on my wrist at the time and he gave it a hard enough twist, unseen, to make me just nod and try to smile. I wish you’d been there to punch his lights out.
I’ve intervened in enough things over the years to realise that while stepping in may not win you any friends, it might just save a life or a soul.
Keep it up. Those ducklings have a hard enough time ahead without middleclass scroats throwing rocks. Talk to the police, talk to the RSPCA, talk to the local radio and TV station. Make a fuss. Because those who start with duckling chicks usually move on to bigger prey.
Ref: Mind your own fucking business.
Sorry to go all spiritual on you, Jake. I run the serenity prayer past most things if I can remember. Here it is for what it’s worth, but you’ll have probably have heard it.
God grand me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
But more often than not though it flies out the window & I’m in there with my ten penny worth. That’s why we write, Jake. We feel, we empathise, we care, we’re in touch, not only with ourselves, but with others. Now stop being such an over-sensitive twat!
Elizabeth, I’m relishing your final line!
I love dogs, always have done. But they come with responsibility. The owners have a responsibility to either train their pets to crap at home (this is not difficult and is normal practice for guide dogs) or they have to carry the bags of poo. If they don’t want to they shouldn’t keep dogs. I don’t want my grandchildren smearing it all over themselves and me during a country walk and yes it has happened and spoiled our day. I know, I do know that in this day and age if I as a small and just past middle age woman take on an aggressive dog owner, duck abuser, child smacker etc. then I am likely to get at the least a rant, from the aggressor and then later from my husband for taking risks but if we all butt out surely we are heading for anarchy.
Diane, those small and just past middle aged women are the really dangerous ones. When they get roused, any sensible person ducks for cover! Having said that, your husband is dead right, but I’m sure you won’t be telling him that.
They say you shouldn’t interfere; they say you should stand back. But, really? When someone is getting their face smashed in? When an animal is being kicked? When kids are being noxious little shits? Nah. Can’t do it. I’m with you, Jake. If it’s serious (and sometimes when it’s not so serious), I get involved. Which can be really stupid in retrospect, when one is nursing the bruises…but I’ve never regretted it.
I remember as a teen that my older brother had a T-shirt with a picture of a beaver on it, middle finger raised with the words “F*ck You, Monsieur!”. When dog-crappers, disrespecters and ticket inspectors get me down, I like to remember that phrase and murmur it quietly.
btw did you realise your blog has got dandruff?
Only for Christmas! We expert bloggers can imitate snowfall for dramatic effect.
Back for a second try.
Probably NMFB but, ‘we are our brothers keepers’ after all and ‘to thine own self, thou must always be true’.
I hope your there if someone ever tries to hit me.
Love the snowflakes. If your looking at me, I hope it’s Far Away Eyes (I’m generally a little more sane there,well…maybe not, but I try.)
always barge in.think later. And E barged in once when a man was beating up his wife outside a solicitor’s. A small crowd had gathered and was looking on interestedly as the blood slid from her nose and a straggle of grubby children wailed. So he joined in and pulled the guy off the wife at which point the solicitor sensed it was safe to leave his office and scuttle out on to the pavement. Seemed he hadn’t wanted to break up the bashing session since he was afraid of what he might catch, the man being a druggie. Issued a scary warning to the scrote, telling them he had access to thuggy gangs in Manchester and there would be no retaliation if he wanted to walk in the future. Our town is small and everyone sort of ends up knowing everyone but we went ex-directory and I was very proud of E, although a little wary given how pregnant I was.