The complications of modern – and ancient – life
Today I dip my toe gingerly into potentially controversial waters as I express a certain sympathy with the plight of poor Northern Ireland Women’s manager Kenny Shiels.
Rusters who follow the sport of football will be all too familiar with the incident which has propelled Mr Shiels on to the sports pages of the national papers – and to vilification in the shark-infested waters of social media – but for the remainder of our readers I shall provide a short summary as follows.
On Tuesday, as widely expected, the England Women’s team beat its Northern Ireland counterpart in Belfast with some ease.
The eventual margin was 0-5, with four of England’s goals coming in the second half.
Afterwards – in an interview – Mr Shiels suggested that, because women are more emotional than men, in game situations they might be susceptible to a tendency in which – perhaps already facing a team that is dominating the match – after going a goal down they might then “collapse in confidence” and thereby concede several more.
There, I’ve said it.
One might feel that – having given this particular opinion – Mr Shiels was always going to be pilloried in the modern 21st Century climate of “wokedom”, diversity and bias against what I shall hereafter to as “traditional” views of any nature.
For a link to a representative piece on his unfortunate “situation”, see here – DAILY MAIL
Thence to the theme of my post today.
Which is that, although there is no shortage – including upon this website – of reports and incidents in which gentle folk beyond a certain age point out the apparent illogicality, mysteries and absurdities of modern 21st Century life, throughout human history there are also certain activities, attitudes, instincts and consequences that remain stubbornly constant.
As poor Mr Shiels has amply demonstrated, these days (and as a male myself) one is slightly hesitant to draw attention to the peculiarities of the working of the female mind for fear of subsequently being “cancelled”, pilloried upon social media and/or pelted with rotten fruit whilst enjoying a walk through any high street in the land.
Nevertheless, it is into these troubled waters that today I venture.
It so happens that, last Saturday night, I retired to bed with the Mem Sahib as per usual after a light supper and then a couple of hours wiled away watching television.
Literally and figuratively – nothing to write home about.
Things were sightly different the following morning.
The day began uneventfully – or, to be strictly accurate – it began as per normal, with me at the computer in the wee hours and then taking up a cup of tea up to my beloved at about 7.45am, supervising the dogs upon their morning constitutional walk, making them breakfast upon our return and nipping out to buy the Sunday newspapers … after which I then retook my place in the marital double bed.
Later there was a point in time upon which I first realised that .. er … all was not well.
The Mem Sahib had finished her tea but had turned and was facing the wall of her side of the bed.
Sometimes in our household this is a time (and this was it on Sunday) when a general chat might start up about our friends or recent events as we contemplate another day tending to the vast Chez Nous estate.
But not on this occasion. The Mem Sahib wasn’t so much monosyllabic as nono-syllabic.
Unsuspecting of any specific issue I took advantage of the situation and nodded off for about forty minutes of delicious slumber in the circumstances (radio silence).
Upon “coming to” again – and as the silence continued – I gradually came to the view that something was amiss.
Had I forgotten to put out the bins for the rubbish collectors? No.
Had I lost one of the cats? No.
Had I left the washing on the clothes-line overnight in error. I didn’t think so.
Eventually I asked my Better Half that fateful question.
Was there a problem?
The object of my affection sighed and gradually revealed that there was an issue that had troubled her mind overnight.
She had dreamed that she had come across me in a hotel, chatting with a Canadian woman with whom I had apparently been having an affair.
(At least that is what she had convinced herself had been happening).
At this point some regular Rusters may have a flash of empathetic recognition with me.
Let me here state for the record that I hadn’t been having an affair with a Canadian woman – indeed have never had an affair with a Canadian woman.
Or indeed with any other woman, for that matter.
However, of course, that counted for nothing.
I’d apparently had an affair with a Canadian woman in the Mem Sahib’s dream overnight – and that was good enough for her.
I was being given the silent treatment – and probably unspeakable further punishments yet to come – for a misdemeanor that I hadn’t committed.
Except in the Mem Sahib’s dream.
Sometimes in human affairs – whether it be in the 21st, 20th or indeed 19th Century – a man can be accused and then convicted of a crime or wrongdoing by a woman and it doesn’t matter whether de facto he was guilty or innocent. No amount of mitigation can be pleaded, let alone taken into account.
He just has to take it on the chin.
