Guilty Pleasures

  'A guilty pleasure is something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music,  that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard.'

               'Something that you love to do, but you just cannot admit that you do it'

                                                                 

Yep, you guessed it. The concept that is getting on my bill lately and making me sigh 'fuck a duck' repeatedly is this notion of guilty pleasures. The whole idea insinuates that something we enjoy should be a thing of embarrassment. Something to be ashamed of, apologetic about and generally kept hidden under the algae-laden recesses of the pond.

Duck that for a joke! The Duck will never, ever be on trial for the stuff she likes. Get stuffed ye who would think otherwise. I love what I love sans guilt and without answering to anyone. Well that is at least the way I feel about it anyway and try to actively practice. Why should we feel guilty? By subscribing to this sentiment we need to consider what are we saying about  those who vigorously enjoy it guilt free? We are judging them, reading them the duck bill of rights and condemning their pleasure as shameful. The shame should be on us if we indulge in this concept. We are little more than castigating and belittling people for things they enjoy whilst satiating our same pleasure in secret. For example the Duck doesn't like the music of James CBlunt, nothing against the guy (in fact I quite like what I have seen of him as a person) but his music doesn't really lull my lily pad or ruffle my feathers. My webbed feet don't start tapping to the sounds 'O' Blunt. In fact, on hearing it, I want to take a very BLUNT instrument to the source...you get the picture. However, if I did like his music I would stand strongly and firmly by my conviction and source of joy.

I want to cast aside labels and and stamp wholeheartedly on boxes that bid to enclose us!  Unlike a box of birds (to be cheerful and happy) a boxed Duck, well... it sends a mortal shiver down my spine!
Surely what makes us special and unique are our differences not our ability to fit a mould?  This quacks very much of social norms whereby our behaviour, dress, music taste etc is dictated by pledging our allegiance to a particular group. People then behave like sheep, veiling their true feeling to fit into some preconceived perception of what they should or should not like.    I love it when stereotypes are mashed up and turned on their beak.  When we cannot contain someone in the parameters of a box.  The truck driver with penchant for opera, the Granny with a weed habit, the heavy metal Duck!  I love the uniqueness of others and particularly people that shock and jolt you out of any judgy attempt to box and stamp!

To illustrate my example I recently took my car in to get a new tyre.  The Tyre Man phoned to say the duckmobile was ready to collect.  He asked me over the phone 'what is track 9 on the CD playing?' The CD was a homemade compilation and I tried to think but couldn't give him an answer.  Upon returning to the land of rubber ducks  I hopped into the car eagerly anticipating this track 9 business. Well bowl me over with a tyre.  The Duck was pleasantly surprised.   What I am trying to say was that here was this burly kiwi mechanic Tyre Man liking this unusual indie band. Tyre Man then took note of the band on his notepad. Love it!  The track is 'Baby' by Warpaint, linked below:

                                       
                                                             Baby-Warpaint


There may be a myriad of reasons behind why we like a certain thing. A happy memory, a time in your life. Maybe you feel alive or your object of joy transports you somewhere else.  We should never have to justify it or call it guilty!  No skulking around in the shadows of the reeds surreptitiously surrendering to our sinful pleasure.  Put it out there, I dare you!  Get all your guilty ducks in a row and give the Toby tall to those who may scoff! Choke on that you goosey goober, you big bloody chicken!


Guilt can serve as a useful tool to bring us back to our own moral compass. But guilt about pleasures is just a wasting of ducking time if you ask me!

#guiltypleasures #notguilty

Duck hunting with a capital C!

                                                                           

                                                                             

Recently I was attacked by a dog. Yes indeed you heard it right here, a dog took to the Duck.  I was trying to protect my son, who has long had a fear of dogs, by Duck-plucking him out of a tricky corner.  The dog leapt up, pawed baby Duck out of my motherly grip then threw me to the ground with its fangs firmly clenched in my duck-like arm.  Long story made medium....baby Duck was freaking out.  Mutha Ducka had to remain calm so as to not fucking further incite fear into one already up to his ears in panic. There is a history and reason for his fear which involves being rumbled (in a most amorous way) by a very tall dog when he was just a two year old duckling.  In one fell swoop I realise that any past attempts to banish a fear of dogs in baby Duck are now redundant!  Gone burger, into the ether, vanished, wasted.  All those hours spent coaxing and cajoling him toward the dog have now gone up in canine-infused smoke!  Doggone.  Prior to this monumental pawing incident I used to get annoyed with dog owners who, when their dog was unleashed, would proclaim 'he won't hurt you'  'she's really a gentle dog' and suchlike upon seeing baby duck wide berthing.   The brazen way they would 'assume' our story would get my goat big time!  Now, however, I anticipate my goat will be of mountainous proportions.  An Everest goat, wild and untamed.  Gargantuan goatarama.

I get so fucked off with dog owners being so defensive.  I am sure your dog is harmless, I haven't even opened my beak and quacked.  Yes your dog is off its lead, yes baby Duck is scared.  But stop!  Don't try to presume you know our story.  It fucked me off in the past and it's going to piss me right off in the future to encounter this kind of response.  There may be a myriad of reasons why someone is wary of a dog.  I would much rather you said something along the lines of  'I am so sorry I have my dog off its lead, I know fucking damn well it's supposed to be restrained  I can see the duckling is distressed by this.  I hope we didn't further consolidate a fear in the young feathered one'.  SAID NO dog owner EVER!!!!!  I am currently working on a response for subsequent encounters.

 Don't get me wrong, I do like dogs, possibly in the past would even have ventured to say that I love dogs.  I grew up with the most gorgeous golden Labrador called Sandy who I loved unconditionally and never, ever feared.  My brother had a very lively black Labrador later down the track who was almost one of the family.  Even baby Duck, when less than 1 years old, would reach out to Nero and stroke him.  This was pre-rumble days.

I was in Auckland recently visiting a friend with the very topically applicable nickname 'Scooby Doo'.  The Dog and the Duck.  We walked along the waterfront discussing dog fears.  I was mindful of my reaction to the many dogs we passed, both the four legged and two legged variety :-).  What illuminated itself to me in the brief brush with these dogs was that, around half of them, elicited a strong visual of teeth.  Someone unscathed would see a dog but I saw teeth!  Gnashing big fangs with drool dripping down and the upper lip (is that what it's called on a dog?) resting on the top of the gums so there's no mistaking the incisors!

Yep, just what I need is another fear to add to my already exhaustive list!  I'm hoping I will return to the former Duck someday, friend of the dog.  Bygone duck doggone.

I also became aware of a subtle change this dog-on-duck drama brought about.  For a significant time after the canine invasion I was aware of a kind of flatness of feeling.  The Duck was not motivated in the slightest toward anything.  A form of flat lining really.  Post traumatic duck disorder.  Almost as if all your energy has been expended on just getting through the ordeal that suddenly you find you have nothing left to feel.  Neither up nor down just flat.  The emotional equivalent of sitting on the fence!  Neither pond half full nor empty.  You get the picture.  Fuck a duck!
Almost as if to make up for my (short-lived) flatness came dreams so vivid and lucid at night that I struggled to separate them from the reality of the day.  It was as if the bite of the dog unleashed some historical toxins and in doing so freed unresolved issues to play out in my dreams.  So by day I was Duck without a bone and by night a Duck with the most monumental bone of contention for some misdemeanor of days gone by.
So in some ways I am grateful for the episode with the dog.  In its wake it released a lot of negative things from the past and made me a little less fearless (of other things).  When the plane I was travelling to Auckland on experienced some turbulence I didn't have my dog bog standard response of minor panic and clutching/tightening of seat belt.  Nor sirree, the Duck felt free from fear and unease surrendering to the notion that some things are out of our control.  We don't know what's coming next and from where it cometh.  I certainly didn't wake up on that doggone day with any notion or suggestion of what was to happen.  Such is life.  We don't know what may lie around that corner. By my way of thinking it is just as well.

Just as every dog has its day...so shall every Duck!

#dogattack #motherlove #dogowners
                                                                               
                                                                         

Dislocated Duck

Lately I have been all at sea!  As you can imagine, the sea is no place for a duck.  A duck belongs in a pond not in the tremendous ocean with severe swells.  I cannot explain the cause of this dislocation but I can attempt to describe the effects
It is akin to the sensation of having freshly arrived in a foreign country a little green around the gills. A foreign country where you don’t quack the language and you don’t know a single feathered soul.  You have no firm plans or any accommodation, pond or otherwise, arranged and to top it all off no one knows you are there! There is a kind of an adrenaline laced edginess to this scenario, a buzzing tinge of excitement and a large measure of adventure. Maybe you experience a physiological manifestation too in the form of a rapid heart rate and just a bead of sweat forming on the forehead and palms. Feathers aglow with the perspiration of trepidation.  Perhaps this is a protective measure to keep you on your webbed feet, to alert you that you are out of your comfort zone and therefore must be more vigilant.  But if you are travelling then you know the edgy vibe will soon give way to a form of heightened excitement and anticipation.  An eagerness to explore, absorb and immerse yourself in this new country and its culture.

 What happens when you experience this without being in a foreign country?  When you are in a small town or city in the country you live in, the country you were born and grew up in?  When you are with people you have known for many years, some of whom you call family?  What happens then? What do you do when this, otherwise, foreign feeling hits you like a freight train in the midst of faces you know like the back of your webbed hand and a setting you are well and truly accustomed to? In the case of the duck you feel a soaring sense of unease, a kind of sickening notion of doom and a vice like grip to your very core! It has seemingly come out of nowhere, blindsided you leaving you barely able to quack. The dislocated Duck is in the height of discomfort and panic.  Not being able to understand the origin of this fucking awful feeling yet wanting it banished forthwith!  Urgently, promptly, abruptly to evaporate leaving no trace.  Yet there is a trace, a formation of saliva gathering in your duck bill, a brisking heart rate and that ever mounting sense of panic.

                                                                 

This sense of dislocation suggests to me that we are ultimately alone in this life.  We have episodes of connection with others and lifetime lasting relationships with a few people.  It  reminds me of a line from the, ever so slightly, cheesy song ' I know him so well'  'No-one in your life is with you constantly, No-one is completely on your side'  Accepting that this is true, that at times in your life you will feel completely alone means you don't need to feel so scared.  Recognising this sensation, going with it rather than resisting it and riding the wave out can be a useful strategy.  Of course I will be the first to admit this is easier said than done.  When you can't see the wood for the trees, the pond for the lily pads just putting one webbed foot in front of the other and moving forward is enough. Sometimes you find yourself out to sea feeling utterly forsaken, the depth of feeling threatening to engulf you with every surge.  You’re in foreign waters where you crave familiar waters.  At times surrounded by people you are beyond accustomed to yet you still feel incredibly alone.  In fact being with people you know and still feeling like this only serves to intensify the perception.  Maybe this is the way of life at times to be all at sea.  Don’t fight it just go with it, tuck your wings in, keep your beak down and wait for the moment to pass.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and all that....

But for the Duck remains the realisation that alas as we are born alone so we must die!

Is there a silver lining in all this?  Yes,I think there is although it’s hard to see anything but black murky waters while you’re in it.  You know you’re alive that is for sure.  You may also appreciate a return to calm, safe and welcoming waters.  The relief may be palpable.  In my experience there is a kind of residue and lingering feeling after something like this.  An of archive of experience that is neatly tucked in 'the back of my mind for now'.  It resides there among all those other unpleasant episodes, tingeing the here and now ever so slightly.  It can inspire you to cast aside fear and throw yourself beak long into life.  Make your quack heard!

When I was writing this a little boat that was given to me years ago came to mind.  The boat pictured below.  It rings as true to me now as it did when I was given it.  'There is no set path, just follow your heart'.  Be liberated by these experiences, dust off your wings and fly free.


                                                                           

'Neither resent the doldrums, or savour too long the elation'

#dislocation #alone #crazymind

Nepal

I am reflecting on the horrific disaster that has occurred in Nepal.  The horror is unimaginable yet I can visualise it as best as someone who is not there can.  I can picture my old place of work reduced to rubble, one of two archaic desktop computers smashed to pieces.   I can see in my mind’s eye my favourite momo khaaja (dumpling snack) place flattened, the lovely owners struggling to make sense of what’s happened to their livelihood, their home.  I know Durbar Square well, I can see it now on the news and in the film going through my head on loop.  I can see the busy Kantipath road overflowing with panicked people, the sound of horns (of the few vehicles still running) beeping desperately. Dogs barking and circling getting nowhere.    The chaos, the disorder, the turmoil. The fear and the grief etched upon the faces of thousands of people.  The sheer shock of it all.

                                                       

This is because I have lived there.  I have lived there, worked there, made friends there, got sick there, laughed and cried and got told I had black teeth there! I loved and was loved there, got angry and frustrated there, clowned around and raised my voice there.  I love Nepal.  I love the people, the food and the simplicity of many things in a country where the conditions can be very challenging. The way most people just get on with the minutiae of their lives with such a positive attitude.   Most Nepali folk don’t engage in navel gazing.  That is a western ‘indulgence’.  I recall being told by a Nepali colleague that I think too much, two minutes a day is all you need.  This was a woman who got up at 5am to prepare daal bhatt for a family of 21, came to work and then did the same in the evening.  Day in day out, no weekends off, no public holidays.  Always smiling, laughing and telling me to stop thinking.  Right now I am worrying about things that may never happen.  Such a waste of head space. I can hear her voice telling me to stop thinking and her cheeky face laughing as she knows she's caught me out-again!

My thoughts too go to my friend Jina and her family.  I worked with Jina in the District Education Office in Bahktapur.  Jina was my regulator, guide and friend.  When I would plan meetings and no one would turn up she would sense my rising frustration and rally the troops.  In her bossy little way she was able to illustrate to me that A) Time works differently in Nepal, not better, not worse but differently. B) On the whole anger is a waste of energy.  I was grateful to her that she could read my mood.  I wasn't grateful, after returning from a 10 day trek, to be told by Jina that I had gotten fat! Moto!  Moto Duck.  The Duck went trekking and came back fat were almost her exact words, give or take the duck part.  Yeah thanks mate!  But this searing honesty is such a refreshing characteristic that many Nepalese possess.  No need to ask 'does my bum look big in this?' rest assured you will soon be told.  

I remember once being in the work jeep.  We were on our way from Bhaktapur to Kathmandu.  In the back was Beer Singh Dhami, another colleague and the Duck.  I was luxuriating in the comfort of travelling like this as opposed to being on the Bhaktatpur Express bus (my usual mode of transport).  Then we stopped and picked up someone else, getting a tad tight in the back.  Then we stopped again and again and again.  Pilling the people in like reverse jenga.  At one stage I was blamed for the squashiness in the back but by now I had learned to teflon coat and let it fly off in an instant and if the need arose deflect it right back.  Deflection would include replies such as 'have you got a mirror in your house?'

                                                           Jina and her family 2006

The Nepali people I encountered were warm, generous, funny and, with that trademark honesty, very unique and special.  I am at a loss as to what I can do.   I am strikingly aware that as I sit  now I do so with the luxury of a roof over my head, clean running water and plenty of food, even plenty of choices.  I can sit at my laptop writing this and contemplate whether I will have a glass of syrah or cab sav tonight!  I am a million miles away from these people, this pandemonium that has been thrust upon them.  I guess in some way I always was.  It was my choice to be there, to live on $5 a day.  It was always my choice. I experienced the extravagance that having choices provides.  Another privilege of the West.  Below is a replica peacock window I was given from the District Education office when I left Nepal. The peacock window is a Newar window unique to Bhaktapur and sometimes known as the 'Mona Lisa' of Nepal.

Peacock Window replica

Inscription on the back of the window

I am also made acutely aware of the fact that this tragedy strikes so deeply in me because I have been there,  lived there and made it my home for over a year.  I am not entirely comfortable with this though.  Why do I need some personal connection to a place to be able to have this reaction?  Are we, as human beings, that selfish?  Just because I know the place a little and have lived and worked and been told I had black teeth there does it validate it any more for me? 

I spoke to a friend just now about this concept and I am hoping it is self preservation.  If you had a 'personal' response to all the bad news in the world you would never want to get out of bed again.  It would be almost impossible to live if you had a deep level of empathy for all the terrible stuff that happens in the world.  I am also keenly aware that I have, in some small way contradicted my last blog post talking about bias in the news etc.  There is an element of internal incongruity for me.  I will have to deal with that.  I am lucky, I still have choice.  My worries are trivial, petty and most of all frivolous in comparison.                                                        

                                                       

I feel so incredibly sad for  Nepal and the Nepalese people.  So much of their livelihood depends on the tourist trade.  They have been knocked back to square one and they were only at square three.  The recovery alone is unfathomable!  This is a set back of gargantuan proportions.  I hope that on this long, arduous  road to recovery, that the people maintain their true spirit.  The warmth and kindness will remain.  I long for this recovery to be as speedy and as efficient as possible.  I long to wrap Nepal in a blanket of love and hold her hand in support and comfort.  

Namaste

#nepalearthquake #vso #livinginnepal #lovenepal

A duck returns to the pond of its ducklinghood after being lost (presumed Crispy Ducked) for 10 years. What you're about to see next will blow you away!

                                                     



You can probably guess from the title that I am quacking about 'news-catch-lines' for want of a better phrase.  The fact that they are EVERYWHERE at the moment is just incredibly annoying and highly unoriginal.  Like the creation and birth of the bloody selfie.  Enough already!
Just another attempt to lure an innocent reader in hook, bad line and sinker of a catch phrase.  Are we immune to the sameyness of this style of reporting?  Can we not see it is just a device that has become popular as a means of creating drama and cliff-hanger like anticipation as we fumble toward the play/hit button?  Like heroin, offering a taste of nirvana, something extraordinary for a seemingly small price.  Hit after fucking hit til we're hooked and we no longer doubt the version of events being presented to us.

I have a bit of an issue with news FULL STOP.  I believe it is highly manipulative and constructed to within an inch of the original truth.  Playing to the anticipated audience like a fiddle.  Giving them everything they want to confirm their narrow minded highly moral view of the world and their bloody smug part in that world.  I will duck and delve into this in more depth soon.

For a local example, just yesterday I was reading the news online and trying to find out who New Zealand was playing in the semi-final of the cricket.  I KNOW, I know that I should bloody well know who we were playing so shoot me!  How dare I, a Kiwi living in New Zealand, not KNOW!? Well I didn't know so fuck off!!!  Do you think I could find a single line, in a single bloody news article stating who the opposition were?  No siree, not a fucking word anywhere to indicate to a cricket ignoramus like me who the other team were.  Is New Zealand that insular that they imagine everyone is a cricket aficionado and this goes without saying???  Bloody hell, I do despair.  I have nothing, absolutely nothing, against cricket or any sport.  But why does the media (at least the NZ media in this case) assume that we are all sports fans and passionate followers?  I feel like I could be put to trial for not being more sporting savvy. It would probably be, in the eyes of New Zealand, a more heinous crime than that of the accused Lundy killings.   To add to my crimes against team sports I have only just 'found out' that Richie McCaw is in fact captain of the All Blacks not a cricketer like I thought.  At least I recognised his name ffs.
When I was at work on the auspicious day of cricket a client informed me that the score was 29 for 2.  I asked if that was good and the very kind person explained it to me.  He didn't judge or harangue me or attempt to present some condescending diatribe.  To him  I am grateful. I have learned a little bit more about cricket.

But really the issue here is with how news is constructed and what is deemed 'worthy' if you like.  It would seem that the following factors increase the chances of an event being newsworthy:  Being middle class, white and living in a developed country. These considerations all enhance the newsworthiness quite significantly.  I remember, back in 2010, when I was 'friends' with Helen Clark (former NZ Prime Minister, now working for UNDP) on Facebook there was a thread about the first earthquake in Christchurch.  This earthquake was in September 2010 in the middle of the night.  Fortunately no lives were lost.  Prior and post this event there were two other major natural disasters in the world.  One was the earthquake in Haiti where over 100,000 lives were lost.  The other was the floods in Pakistan where 2000 or so lives were lost.  I made a comment on the thread about how the first earthquake in Christchurch (the second devastating one had not occurred at this stage) was eclipsing Haiti and Pakistan in the news and I found this to be bloody shocking.  Clark (herself or her social media mogul I couldn't guarantee?) swooped in on my like a flock of seagulls to a road kill accusing me of being smug.  Au contraire!!! Duck feathers were now well and truly ruffled.   I then explained that I found it sad that news from a developed country where there was no loss of life would overshadow and obscure the horrendous disasters in Haiti and Pakistan where the loss of life and devastation were epic.  Then most of the contributors to the thread understood where I was coming from and agreed.  Phew, thank quack for that!

I think it pays to be mindful of the ways in which the news can be engineered to suit a demographic and manufactured to confirm our preconceived ideas about the world.  Look beyond the catch line to the motivation and angle of the article.  Keep one webbed foot in reality (as best we can know it), let your beak do the hunting and quack it up when it doesn't fit right!  Don't accept mediocrity!


#newsdistortion#newsworthy#biasinnews

Ducket List

Inspired by the relatively recent trend of bucket lists I have taken to (pond)-ering about what would be on my list. So I have decided to indulge in a few of my own.  When I say indulge I mean at least write them down.  Doing them, well that would be fine and dandy now!


                                               

                                         The-in-near-future Ducket List
        

• To be able to take a a leisurely bath ALONE!  No one squished up at the tap end, no sitting on or leaning back into sharp plastic now in the rubbish toys.  What bliss it would be to have this experience.  Put on some noice tunes, glass of vino at the ready, posh scented candles lit and ....relax.  In fact, fuck the music and candles, the only important element is that I am the only one in that body of water!  No ducklings waddling toward the pond eyes alight with the promise of submersion.  Nuh huh!  Lone Duck, long pond.

                                           

• To get in a car and just drive!  No set destination.  No one knowing where you are.   No time frame!  Just me and the car. Me and the road.  Me and freedom. Oh, and of course some good road music is essential. Woohoo, duckstress of my own fate.  Wind blowing through my feathers, ducking and diving through shit holes on the map, quacking along to the power ballads with the mallards, "more than a ducking good feeling', "here I go again on my own"  "Who's gonna drive Duck home" 'Total eclipse of the Duck"  I suspect the reason this scenario is so tempting is because it is not really possible without some minor consequence.  Who would pick up the duckling, take him to school the next day, go to my job etc et bloody ceteraaaaaaaa?  I can't really just throw ducaution to the wind and just drive.  I'm too freaking sensible. I lack the spontaneity and recklessness.  That's why it is such a sweet, illicit fantasy.  I wouldn't even care if I found myself in Levin or even Danniverke for that matter.  Dreams are free!  Click if you dare:

                            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oohFGOmcxuo

                                   There is a theme occurring here methinks!

• To have my bed made by someone other than me.  To add to this rather delicious bucket dream I would love nothing more than to slide into fresh sheets that are crisply cold so I can starfish across them in the grips of a hot flush. Ahh sweet bliss.

• To give less of a shit about what people think of me or my actions.  I have already started on this journey (and it is a ride) so it's a kind of work in progress.  It involves retraining negative thinking patterns and unleashing the inner duck!  To those who judge I would like to give them the webbed finger, turn my beak in the other direction and not give a flying duck.  To cultivate an ability to say 'what me?  Ach it's water off a ducks back!' and truly mean it with every feather of my being.  To fly unbridled through life and skim over the negative parts and loiter with intention in the aspects that are uplifting, inspiring and energising.  To have the composure to change the feathers I need to change, embrace the ones I cannot change and have the discernment to know the ducking difference.

I would love to hear your bucket lists. Both your near and further into the future arse-pirations.  

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/7762427/giant_sand_wayfaring_stranger_fly_me_to_the_moon/

                                'Don't quack like a duck, soar like an eagle'.

#bucketlist

A duck in the hand is worth none on the fence!

A fence is a freestanding structure designed to restrict or prevent movement across a boundary. Fences are generally distinguished from walls by the lightness of their construction and their purpose.

They are not designed to sit on.  So why do so many people sit on the fucking fence? I'm not talking about people who are genuinely neutral about a certain topic.  To those I would say 'sit away as much as you like you neutral, beige folk'. I am sure we are all ambivalent about one thing or another.  For example I don't have a strong opinion on breastfeeding vs bottle.  I have chosen this as an example as it tends to be very topical among parenting groups. I really don't care whether you breast or bottle your baby.  I have never heard of a child in crisis or even a young adult on the psychiatrist's sofa where the report comes back something like this:  'we believe the cause of little Cuntface's banal character is down to being biach fed as an infant'  I do, to be contrary, have a strong opinion over whether it is anyone other than the parents business.  Who cares?  It's bloody boring. But that is another whole minefield right there.  So there you go, I don't care what you do regarding b or b for little b, but I do mind those that judge others for what they do.  On the fence, off again. on, off, on, off!

What  I am really talking about people who have opinions (and often very strong opinions) but they just want to perch on that fucking fence and not commit.  This can be clearly illustrated when they jump down off said fence, spouting opinion, opinion, opinion and then try to sneak back up onto the fence as if they've been there all along! Pale lemon jelly bastards.  Bet your mother b-fed you when you were young.  Hee hee!
I hope the fence you choose to sit on is riddled with barbed wire so that there is a physical manifestation of your fickle, weak antics. I would wish for the experience to elicit a kind of Pavlov's dog response - if you have something to say and you choose to sit on that fence may it be so caustic and hostile that it will prompt your evasive, ambiguous and circumspect arse right back off!  I hope the fence is electric and that you are zapped whilst trying to take the easy road.  As you may well see, I don't think you can be on the fence and off simultaneously.  It is physically impossible.

Again, I must clarify...having an opinion and choosing not to share it is different.  These are people whose opinion you will never know in this instance as they have decided to remain silent.  Subtle, yet not so subtly different from the aforementioned shitters.  I acknowledge that there is a time and a place for opinions.  There are whole raft of reasons people choose to share or not.  I am starting to confuse myself.  I guess I am targeting a very specific and small group of people who let their opinion be known to you and then try to back up the truck to a neutral fence friendly position when the debate starts.  It cannot be comfortable to live in their skin, wanting to take all sides yet have their opinion whilst remaining neutral.  Phew, exfuckinghausting! Yes I realise I am being petty but I guess that is where the term pet hates/peeves comes from?

I will leave you with a reducked song.  It is based on the Leonard Cohen's 'Bird on a Wire'

Duck on a wire

Like a duck on the fence wire
Like a cunt in quagmire
I have tried in my way to flap free
Like a dog with a bone
Like a dictator with some old fashioned moan
I have saved all my opinions for thee
If I, if I have been on the fence
I hope I can recompense
If I have been untrue
I hope you don't end up duck stew...

For those that don't know the original tune (at which I would be truly shocked!) Here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwnAg2tZKFk

#sittingonthefence #opinionated #fencesitting