Essential Snobbery 101: Never consider wagging your tail in court

Wagging for position

When the term WAGs (wives and girlfriends) of high-profile England football team players was coined and moved into popular usage to extend to the female partners of high-profile sportsmen, I do not think it had any encomium quality apart from being dismissive and probably derisive, but it had some currency in the gossip columns, if that was your fare and where you got your news, in the tabloids.

To the snooty, a WAG’s profile depended on the fortunes of her spouse, though many are typically good mothers, generally independent women, good at keeping their men grounded and focused; some even have careers that predate any association with their men of celebrity, they make news and money on their own account, and they should be commended, as exemplary people.

Wagging societal status

However, recently, the high court has witnessed the libel trial that has taken Wagatha Christie into folklore, Coleen Rooney the wife of Wayne Rooney, one-time the captain of the England team and a with a very successful playing career that has moved into less laudable coaching, suspected someone was selling personal information to the papers from her Instagram account, so, she laid a trap of posting false stories exposed to certain individuals to see which one would end up in the tabloids. She revealed that Rebekah Vardy, the wife of Jamie Vardy, a prolific goal-scorer and England team player, was the one.

It takes no guessing that the detective work by Coleen Rooney was given the moniker of one of the most famous murder mystery writers of the 20^th century, Agatha Christie, WAG conveniently attaches to it as tabloid journalism is wont to ululate and grab our attention. For publicly pointing the finger at her, Rebekah Vardy has taken Coleen Rooney to court, and we had a feast of revelations, even as this case should never have gone to court if wiser heads had prevailed.

These ladies, awash with money and influence, though it would be profligate of one to add class, have presented an interesting characterisation of being not only upwardly mobile but that people with a typically working-class upbringing can visit the courts on matters of reputational damage that used to be the preserve of the gentrified signifies how much English society has changed.

Wagging a sausage

Obviously, there are swipes, muggings, drive-by shootings, and collateral damage, like gangland warfare, not literally, but herein is the corrosiveness of gossip; there is someone not involved that gets hurt in more ways than necessary. As we learnt with no substantiation to the veracity of the claim that Rebekah Vardy had alleged to someone that Peter Andre, a one-time chart-topping musician who is the star of musicals and reality television shows, wields a manhood that could be described as a chipolata.

A chipolata is a kind of sausage, and we can leave the rest to the imagination. Peter Andre would appear to be a man hard, wrong choice of word, anyway, the allegation would suggest Rebekah Vardy has met Peter Andre in a state of the Emperor’s New Clothes to have examined the goods and come away unimpressed.

A situation, the hard, wrong choice of word again, the apparently wronged man cannot seem to recall, and since this revelation was made in court and published for public amusement, he is considering going to court to restore his reputation to ensure than endowed is qualified and never alluded to on matters of his appendage. [The Independent: Peter Andre ‘considering legal action’ over Rebekah Vardy’s chipolata jibe about his manhood]

Don’t wag this tail

In my view, this would be totally ill-advised, nothing good comes out of it, it is one thing for someone to describe your private parts to court, it is totally another for the courts to be persuaded to examine your goods for the purposes of the verification according to the description given for length, girth, colour, distinctive characteristics and whatnot, it is not an identity card.

Besides, this apparent chipolata functions majestically; it does not shoot blanks. He has 4 beautiful children who probably would not want this part of their father’s natural endowments exposed to the spectacle of an unseemly legal charade. The associated members of Michael Jackson, Rolf Harris, and Max Clifford came up in their sexual abuse trials, for which the latter two went to jail, and no matter how you imagined it, what came to light was not pretty.

Much as any man, except if in the sex industry with something to talk about, would not want to have his entities on display or as a subject of public commentary, I am unsure that court action would quieten the sniggers, snide comments, or jibes. It is the kind of thing you should allow to die, suffocated by public spectacle, except if Rebekah Vardy decides she has no heart for another court battle and totally recants the allegation, possibly with the added statement that she has never met Peter Andre to be that acquainted with him.

I have no interest in knowing what Peter Andre measures, which might go for a lot of us. Personally, I would have sought a means to view a slight in jest and move on with my life, for if I had means, opportunity, and clout, it would not be expended into proving, curvature, cut, or colour. I am not as invested in my phallic appendage as to put it on show. Peter Andre might be hard done by, but he is not hard-pressed to prove anything – let it go.

We can be angels with and of change

A scarcity of loose change

To the many disadvantaged and destitute in my city, I can only imagine how the pandemic and technological advancements have affected them. For instance, I used to have some change in pound coins or lesser value coins in my pocket somewhere that I could give when asked for some help.

I can think of the many times that I have not been able to give any change nor had the immediate means to collect and handle money physically. Everything is now done electronically either online or through contactless payments.

There was a time I was approached by one man who said he needed something to eat, I was just passing by a fish & chip shop, so, having my mobile phone that could complete a transaction, I put in an order for a meal and drink, paid for it and told him to collect when done. It probably is easier to just ask before I go into a supermarket if someone needs anything, and I get it for them, with a little extra.

Not much change for many

It is the little one can do because even the charities and social services are stretched, they almost always do not have enough places, beds, supplies or the essentials to meet the demands, and even if the supplicants did qualify many have to go through too many hurdles that humiliate and dehumanise them to get the bare necessities, if at all.

Direct help in my view is useful, if anything, it reminds us all, that we have the poor amongst us and that the milk of human kindness and angelic provision still exists in our tough times and tougher, if sometimes, indifferent society. I have purposed not just to give change, but to give money that can do something, to get a meal or a bed for the night, sometimes even more.

Change given without any judgement

Leaving church earlier, I was accosted by someone who wanted money for a meal, I could not even imagine if he had had a meal recently, but I had a monetary note in my wallet and as I was trying to get it, he went on about him only needing it for food, not for drugs or for alcohol. It is that person's prerogative what they use the money I give them for. Obviously, I would rather they applied to use and care rather than abuse, but that is left to them.

As I gave him the money, I told him, I am not here to judge you. It is an evolving lesson of maturing, if I dare, some empathy, that I would constantly entertain, I do not want to stand in judgement because I have means, opportunity, or privilege.

I know what it is to fall on hard times and I am grateful for all those who pulled me through those almost impossible circumstances, I have been blessed abundantly beyond words I can find to express, the much that I have enjoyed.

Give more than just change

Further down the road, a lady smiled at me from under her sleeping bag in the doorway of a building on one of main shopping streets and I determined to do something about that brief encounter, for I smiled back.

I walked up the road to find an automatic teller machine (ATM) and there were none for a good stretch of what is a commercial street. Banks are closing and removing the heretofore ubiquitous ATMs that they are becoming quite scarce to find. I had committed in my intentions to give her something, so, I walked back on myself to find an ATM, even that had a notice that it would be removed in just over 3 weeks.

That would mean that for most of the length of Deansgate in Manchester, there would be no ATMs, how and why that is allowed to happen is perturbing and disconcerting.

We are angels of change

However, I did get some money and walked back up to the lady and gave it to her. I probably should cultivate another thing; the habit of conversation and learning more about the people I have helped, for they all have a human story that I am usually disinterested in.

There is gratitude and uncertainty that crosses their faces, they cannot believe the generosity in the first place and wonder if I am sure I want to give them whatever I have given. I understand their plight, but I assure them, in the worst-case scenario, they have been visited by an angel. That seems to assure them, for whether we acknowledge it or not, we all seem to believe in angels, and that my friends, is a very good thing.

In Telling: Beware of pill rumours

A day in hand

A few weeks ago, I looked at my 7-day pillbox on a Friday night when I was about to take my medication and I noticed I had one more day than I should have, I know I definitely took my pills on Sunday night as that is my start of the week, but I could not account for which night until Friday that I did not take my pills, the whole process is as automatic as muscle memory, the day markings on the container had long been lost to wear and use.

That was a rarity, as in the almost 13 years that I have been on a daily regimen, I do not think I have missed taking my pills for more than 15 days in total and probably quite less than that. There was one time when I missed taking my pills for 2 nights in a row and that was out of carelessness, I was away from the weekend whilst I thought I had packed my pills, I had in fact left them on the table at home.

That was over 10 years ago, and what that taught me was always to have a spare set of pills for that emergency of being caught out by circumstances I could not control.

Pills on a rampage

My fastidiousness with the medication is a complete turn-around from before I was started on antiretrovirals, for I had many fears and concerns, initially, it was the thought of the pill burden; the number of pills I had to take any number of times in a day and for how long. I heard people were taking pills in the double figures more than once a day, the medication had to be stored in the fridge and much else, but that was HIV medication history.

I had my own baptism of fire into pill chaos, that was after I was discharged from hospital. I had a whole range of pills and medication, antiretrovirals twice a day, opioid pain management every 3 days as a patch on my skin, different pain killers and analgesics addressing different kinds of cancer pain, thrice, four times, and six times a day, some depending on need, anti-emetics, suppositories daily, then chemotherapy, every three weeks.

For the first few months, I was occupied and preoccupied, this was the world I was afraid to entertain before I fell ill, and I told a few friends as much. My reality brought the requirements for this pill Armageddon, I could understand how the prospect of what might be ahead could scare anyone, it is a complete recalibration of life and lifestyle to meet your medical needs.

Each case is unique

Then, side-effects, too much information swirling around, and I had a good few from the obvious, as nausea and vomiting, insomnia, diarrhoea, itching, bloating, tics, and other kinds of discomfort, the loss of taste for proteins, like I lost my taste for fish or eggs when I was on chemotherapy. However, it was all that preconception of entering any kind of HIV therapy that became a barrier to my seeking medical attention as soon as I should have.

I can say now that there are so many improvements to antiretroviral therapies and medications, the pill burden is much less, usually one combination therapy pill daily, the side effects are not as bad, apart from a slight high some 90 minutes after I take my medication, I am fine. I prefer the regularity and routine of pill-taking to the possibility of an injection every few months.

Blog - An injection for my pills

The pill keeps me well and healthy, my CD4 count has risen considerably, and I have had an undetectable viral load within two months of being on antiretroviral medication. I have been on the current regimen since May 2010 apart from a 2-month trial of another drug in 2018 that did not work for me.

Blog - 12 Years on ARVs

The pills are out of patent and sourced as generics, each circumstance is different, but despite what we have heard or read, we must always avail ourselves of treatments tailored to our needs rather than out of the experiences of others, no matter no similar the symptoms are.

In Telling

In Telling: The spirit that sustains

Thought Picnic: Deny bad strangers a hold on you

They do not know you

In considering the attitude of some people to others, I found myself thinking about how we could allow complete strangers to influence how we think about ourselves to the point of dejection that we become unhappy about ourselves.

Be careful not to rate the approval and approbation of strangers over the acceptance and love of those you know. A fleeting rejection should never define your self-worth or your existence. That you have not been liked at a point in time is just an episode that quickly passes on, not to be agonised over.

Let strangers be insignificant

Usually, that situation is a factor of them speaking more to their limited sense of appreciation than of you and who you are. Knowing this will give you peace and a sense of perspective, for strangers are just that, strangers. Until someone gets to know you, they don't know you. Even if it is lasting, their first impression is just theirs alone.

You may never encounter that stranger again, so, why let them dwell in your memory and experience? Obviously, how they made you feel or treated you might be bad, unfair, and unkind, but they make up an insignificant proportion of your existence, and do not give them a platform where they should never even have a toe hold.

#PartyGate: Of the conceited kakistocrat of 10 Downing Street

He is impervious to contrition

It has come as no surprise, at least not to me that Prime Minister Boris Johnson has indicated that he has no intention of resigning after the submission of the #PartyGate report, in fact, after having escaped the necessity of The Queen demanding his resignation after he lied to her majesty on the illegal prorogation of 2019, it was obvious that he has no character, dignity, integrity, embarrassment, sense of responsibility, or shame that could lead to his relinquishing office except by the loss of an election. [BBC News: Sue Gray report: Drunken No 10 party culture in lockdown laid bare]

What is disturbing is the realisation that the United Kingdom is in the unconscionable grip of a kakistocracy never seen in the performance of government ever. A man who has had an undistinguished record of being unable to acquaint himself with the truth that he would lie with such ease and no pang of conscience, who is ready to abandon international treaties that he himself negotiated and signed because of the inconvenience that has exposed his double-dealing and perfidy is not on a journey to become a better man.

Here is one who does not believe he should be held accountable for anything; he constantly gets away with impunity even as his acolytes have joined in his way of doing things to preserve the perverse. Apparently, we met with Conservative MPs and said he was sorry, just like the boy who cried wolf and they believe him. Boris Johnson in his arrogance and conceit is incapable of contrition, but more fool them, as they know who he is and now choose to vouch for his honesty and sincerity.

An unprincipled lot

When friends suggested his brush with a possible COVID death might moderate his outlook and behaviour, I knew Boris Johnson had no redeeming quality that could help him reflect on infirmity or adversity to see a reform of his character, he is utterly rotten to the core. Sadly, his party has become the freemasonry of the unprincipled that would coalesce rather than rid themselves of this pox on our democracy.

If truth and justice cannot be the lodestar of our government and democracy, you can only wonder what these people would allow to happen, if they ever think there is any need to have any sense or purpose. The handful of Tory MPs that have any semblance of integrity are too few to move the needle.

Self-interest rather than national interest is the guidance for most of them and some would be let out like rabid dogs on our televisions to defend the indefensible perfidiously that Beelzebub the father of lies would find himself an amateur to their parselmouths.

Somehow, we are just left with no other choice than to watch and hope that they would exhaust themselves and go the way of oblivion with history judging them as the worst that has ever come to power, the bookend of Queen Elizabeth's amazing reign besmirched by an intolerable government.

#TheAIDSMemorial #WhatIsRememberedLives Chris Clark

 

Chris Clark (1973 - 2009)

The AIDS Memorial

I follow the Instagram page of TheAIDSMemorial where the theme of #WhatIsRememberedLives memorialises the many who lost their lives to HIV/AIDS, some many in the late 1980s into the 1990s and even after.

I lost many friends to the plague, and I also made many friends who live as witnesses to the wonders of medicine that now keeps many of us alive. Some were really close friends and their loss shook me to the core, then, one was a lover, for whom the unexpected and sudden realisation of his demise is quite difficult even as I was fighting for my own life on the diagnosis of AIDS and cancer.

Many of us in losing friends or partners of a sexual minority rarely had support or comfort for our losses and grief. Some were ostracised or excluded from the obsequies of people they loved in life out of secrecy, shame, animosity, stigma, or denial. In The AIDS Memorial page, we find an opportunity to remember and ensure those significant relationships are never forgotten.

Of loves lost

That lover was Chris Clark, and this is the only picture I have of Chris Clark (May 30, 1973 - c. October 14, 2009). We met online in late 2003 when he lived in London and I in Amsterdam, there was such an attractive quality about him, his story, his experiences, and his ambitions that drew me to him, I guess I was smitten by that personality.

We tried hard to build a relationship, but I was unsure of what it would entail, I guess I was once afraid and I was lazy about the prospect of a long-distance relationship, I should have been bolder, but I learnt hard lessons in the process. He came to stay with me in Amsterdam when I realised that my cooking was too spicy for him.

Other places we met up for snatches of affection and more were in Berlin and at Playa del Ingles, it didn't bother me footing the expense, I was never able to use my head when it came to Chris, I was all heart and no sense.

In pain and in forgiving

His mum threw him out of their home at the age of 15 when he declared his homosexuality and somehow, it fell to a stranger who took him off the streets of London and then to the United States of America where he finished school and tried a career in film and photography.

Later, he moved to Amsterdam with a partner who sadly committed suicide by drowning in a canal. Much as he had hardships and challenges in his life, the parents who rejected him as he was growing up could not trust any of his apparently responsible older siblings to care for them as they were dying, they called on the humanity of Chris to give them the send-off they desired, and he acquitted himself well in that regard.

He lost his mother in February 2007, she died in his arms and his father in December of the same year, he bore the full cost for the funeral arrangements whilst the siblings quibbled about the estate. His father left everything to him as for everything they did to him, he was the only one that could be trusted to do right. Chris had a large and forgiving heart. I tried to offer emotional support in the absence of family, we last met up greeting in the new year of 2008 in Playa del Ingles.

When he died

He became HIV+ probably a few years before I did, but there were times when he did not have enough to eat in support of his essential medication. I sometimes think he allowed his condition to deteriorate over time. We grew estranged though we maintained sporadic communication into 2009 when my health slowly descended into full-blown AIDS I was hospitalised in late September 2009.

He constantly asked after me sending me text messages I did not promptly respond to, I felt Chris was too deep in my life in some of the things he did that I needed to protect myself, my heart, my emotions, and my mental health even as I was besotted with him. He invited me to Facebook which I did not respond to until after his passing.

I left the hospital on the 9th of October 2009 and as I was settling down just over a week later, I sent a message to his mobile phone and got a shocking response from his flatmate, Chris had died at home of renal failure just around the 14th of October, a few days after my discharge from hospital.

A memorial deserved

I had many fond memories of Chris, and I grieved his passing for many years. One Christmas, I did get the Christmas tree we argued about because I did not want one and he did. It was one way of memorialising him. In fact, I grieved alone sometimes leaving a message on his Facebook on birthdays and the supposed date of his death.

I thought I would never find love again until it took something so extraordinarily special that first reminded me of Chris and then informed me that I could move on from Chris, it took over 9 years for that to happen. He had that cheeky smile, a dry sense of humour, a way of pulling at your heartstrings and a wonderful personality.

I have wanted to write this for a long time, thank you Chris for sharing some time and love with me. Akin Akintayo

I wrote an AIDSMemorial page for Chris Clark in two parts, Part I and Part II, this blog fleshes out parts that I did not include for space constraints.

In Telling: The spirit that sustains

Strength from within

I sometimes think about the effects of illness and how vulnerability and infirmity change your outlook, your inadequacies are exposed in ways you can never have been prepared for, and you are left with just your spirit to sustain you through it all.

In many ways, you cannot account from further than the next tick of the clock, for the pain, you can only have so much medication to dull it without putting you into a stupor because you still need to function in some way.

Then you wonder about the incredible resilience of our being, for whether we survive or not, there is no accounting for the strength that we usually never know we had. It is like you are tested to the limit and then some, if your body can just tolerate what it is put to it, providence and fortune might give you a story to tell.

In the passage of time

I am humbled by my experience and then I think about the fact that when I went for the Spring booster the NHS website failed to provide adequate information for when I was registering, I am not considered in a vulnerable cohort of the immunosuppressed, because my CD4 count is not over double the minimum threshold, though I think my medical history should make me eligible.

Whether it is good or bad news is beside the point, what I cannot afford at any time is to contract the Coronavirus and so, I still wear my face mask in enclosed places, avoid crowded spaces, and take necessary precautions. That is just how life is today.

A story to tell

I was chatting to my best friend last week and he asked that I consider writing about serious illness, how people face it, and how we try to get beneficial outcomes against the onslaught of the medical establishment which may not always be acting in our favour, especially when the experts are too arrogant and self-important to listen to our own perspective of what we are going through and what it is we need.

I am not quite sure of how this would go, but I can only write about my own experience and I hope those who read my story might find something of help or usefulness, I guess that is just what I will do.