Chapter 66 - Pre-Covidian

Graham 

“So, Freddy, Buddha says, ‘Hate is not conquered by hate: hate is conquered by love.’ A great approach to life.” I am in a pub in Chester, with Freddy and Trevor. The same pub that we frequented years ago. We found one another through Facebook, a remarkable invention. 

“Wise words, but hard to achieve in the modern world,” Freddy replies. 

“Be positive Freddy, we could be leaving the European Union, and we will be able to trade with Asia, Africa and the Great USA; Britain’s former colonies,” I say, hoping my sense of humour is apparent. 

“Yeah, like you don’t know that we already trade with countries outside of the European Union anyway, Graham. I’m quite happy with the status quo, thanks. I don’t want to go back to the dim and distant past. The food was awful here then, but now it’s pretty good,” Freddy says. 

“Yes, I think the chef is Polish,” Trevor says. “My cleaner is Polish, she’s great.” 

“You’ve got a cleaner Trevor. How can you afford that?” I ask. “Life has moved on since our stint at Her Majesty’s pleasure, I see.” 

“Well, my girlfriend pays for her. She earns more than me —egalitarian times.” 

“I wonder if your girlfriend’s Polish cleaner thinks so,” I remark. “Well, if we pull out of the European Union, maybe your girlfriend will be able to get a cleaner from one of our former colonies, at a cheaper rate,” I say. I hope my cynicism is noted. I think it is. “You’ve changed your tune Freddy. I thought you were opposed to Britain joining the European Union, or Community, as it was then.” 

“Well, if people wish to come to the United Kingdom to improve their circumstances, then surely that is a good thing,” Freddy says. 

“Yes, give them the minimum wage to help their families back in Poland. There must be some good in that. I wonder if there is a link between us being the fifth largest economy, and the possible exploitation of migrants,” I chuckle. 

“What did you chaps vote for, first time around?” Freddy asks. 

“Can’t remember,” Trevor and I reply, almost in unison. Voting is a private matter, and you may already know that I change my answer, depending on my company. I think Trevor’s approach is similar. 

“Do you consider yourself British Freddy? Much like Cedella, my ex.” I still like to torment. “A young, white lady, who happens to know my former wife; told me that she doesn’t think Cedella will ever go back to Jamaica, she’s too Westernised.” 

“Are you keeping tabs on your ex?” Trevor asks. 

“I try to. You never know, there might be some unclaimed, Jamaican inheritance, or land Cedella has overlooked. I might be able to help her with it.” 

“I make sure my ex has no idea where I am,” Trevor replies. 

“Graham, you know this displays ignorance, because your ex and I were raised in Westernised countries, as British citizens. And I must emphasise, we still are British citizens. Sounds like both you and your young girlfriend may be prone to microaggression,” says Freddy. I have successfully tormented him. The corners of my mouth upturn a little. A subtle attempt to display triumph over Freddy. 

“I hear you.” A phrase that shuts people up. Yes, I’ve got microaggression down pat. It’s served me well over the years. “This young lady isn’t my girlfriend, she has a Moroccan boyfriend, who has yet to come to this country,” I say. 

“Being betrothed to a person from a different religion, race or country, does not mean that you are free from prejudice,” Freddy replies. 

“You’re right, I say. “She keeps moaning about illegal immigrants coming into Britain and taking advantage of its welfare system, and this is hindering her boyfriend’s chances of coming to the country to get a job. Sounds a little bit ill-informed to me.” 

“You should tell your friend and her Moroccan boyfriend that the clue is in the wording. By definition, illegal immigrants are in fact illegal, and so it’s difficult to record how many —often desperate individuals— enter this country,” Trevor comments. 

“If there are more than three people the same colour as Freddy in your local supermarket or place of work, then there is an illegal immigration problem Trevor. Didn’t you know that?” I hope you know I jest. 

I will change the subject. “Sometime before my daughter Helen had died, she had attempted to write a book, but she did not finish it, luckily. I understand that I featured, and I am sure it would have been an unfair depiction of me.” 

“Was I in it, Graham? Surely, she remembered the game console that I sold to you at a reasonable price. I was forward thinking then. Look at the gaming industry now,” says Trevor. 

“I doubt it. She told me she was affected by the level of prejudice amongst a small number of non-white people in an organisation she worked for. To be blunt, Asian people of differing faiths, of differing castes, I believe. I expect the subject matter revolved around that. She took everything so seriously,” I reply. 

“Division between differing shades and faiths can be problematic,” Freddy replies. 

“But not Buddhism Freddy, I quite like the idea of Buddhism,” I say. 

“That’s why I am an atheist, or do I mean aestheticist,” Trevor says, with a smile. 

“Well, sorry to say that I am glad that my daughter’s book was never published. She wasn’t the brightest, and I am pretty sure there would be too many split infinitives in her writing. It would be quite excruciating, not just for me but for the many Negroid people who are highly literate. My son, on the other hand, has done well for himself. Worked hard for it. He and his family found Helen quite embarrassing. She was the fat one that never achieved. Admittedly, I am fat, but I have strived to excel.”

“Not always legally,” Freddy says. 

“Allow Trevor and I to have a little self-worth. I still can’t work out why you didn’t get a record,” I say. To be honest, I know Freddy did not evade tax. People of colour are often the first to be caught by the filth. They’re the scapegoat, the bogeyman. Freddy is wise to this. 

Returning to the subject of my offspring. “I think Nathan was a bit worried that Helen’s story would include him and his young family, but I don’t believe they even featured in her world really. Like I said before, Helen was too preoccupied with the politics of her workplace. Well, you can’t choose your family, but you can choose your mates.” We raise our glasses. 

Yes, Britain is about to embark on another referendum. We do not have many. Perhaps we should. Which way will I vote? I probably won’t vote at all. Therefore, whatever the outcome, I’ll be on the right side of history. Yet, I expect most of the British will vote to remain within the European Union, because as Freddy says, the majority of Britain has benefitted. 

Freddy looks pensive. “I was aggressive towards you, a friend—” 

“Steady,” I interrupt, with a smile. 

“Yes, friend is a bit strong but nonetheless, I am aware that these senseless, horrendous terrorist attacks, made in the name of my faith, have contributed to the fear of the foreigner, and I understand completely that some, and not just white British people, wish to leave the European Union because they think this will prevent further atrocities, but I am unsure how effective this will be. Some of these kids, who have committed these despicable acts, are not immigrants.” 

“Well, some are children of immigrants and that’s close enough, for some of us,” Trevor jokes. 

“One man’s terrorist is another Man’s—” 

“Fuckwit,” Trevor interrupts me and sups his famous brand of Irish stout. 

“Well indeed. I suspect those of us who are hostile to immigrants, are thinking about the immediacy of our circumstances — dire financial circumstances, rather than terrorism. And if we’re told by the politicians and press, that immigration is affecting our livelihoods, our chances of prosperity, then we’ll believe them because the powerful have the voice of authority,” I reply. 

“Life is hard enough when you belong here. Isn’t that a song?” Trevor asks. 

“Sounds familiar; whatever belonging to the United Kingdom really means. I didn't know what it meant, as a younger man, and I still don't. Where does your name originate Trevor?” I ask. 

“Its origins are Welsh and Irish, I believe,” Trevor answers. 

“Yeah,” I say. I’m half listening, because I know the answer. “I can’t think of that song Trevor. I’m still a Beatles man myself.” 

"You are the Walrus," says Freddy. 

"Candid Freddy,” I reply. 

"McCartney is your favourite Beatle, and Lennon said McCartney was the Walrus," Freddy explains. 

"I thought Lennon was the Walrus," I say. 

“Freddy is he, as you are he, as we are me, and we are all together,” Trevor remarks. 

“Very Zen,” I say. 

“Some do say that Lewis Carroll’s Walrus was a representation of Buddha,” Freddy comments. 

“Freddy, where’s your Karakul hat?” I ask. 

“Threadbare and in my top-drawer. I don’t feel comfortable purchasing another on eBay,” Freddy says. 

“Fair enough comrade. We’ll agree that European colonialism belongs to the past. What do you think of this Etonian Boris guy though? He’s got his eye on the throne. Pretends to be a fool, but I’m unsure. A master of deception perhaps,” I say. 

“Yeah, we can sniff out our own kind,” says Trevor. “Don’t think we can do much about tactical manoeuvring in politics though.” 

“True, and this chap likes his words. I’ve read a few of his articles in The Daily Telegraph,” I say. 

“You read the Telegraph,” Freddy chuckles. 

“Yes, I read the paper now and again because my dad did. I’ve also seen Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning live, back in the day,” I reply. 

“Why?” Freddy asks. 

“Because I’m a white man and I can do these things,” I reply. “You have to read newspapers before you criticise their content and the same applies to entertainment, or art. You have to witness or experience it first-hand.” 

“Art,” says Freddy, sardonically. “You’ll be going to watch Nigel Farage next.” 

“I haven’t seen him in the art, or entertainment section of the Telegraph, but you never know. Although, I do get tired these days, I don’t go out so much. A comfy chair and a game of Scrabble will do me. I’m a grammar school fool with an O-level in woodwork, but great at Scrabble. I could beat this Boris Johnson in a game, I reckon. The only people I fear playing, are Nathan and his mum. Thankfully, there’s not much chance of playing against Cedella,” I say. “Anyone for another pint? Although, I don’t think my liver can take much more. Not these days.” 

“You know, I don’t really hear either side, whether for or against European Union Membership, talk about how the reduction in immigration will negatively affect the National Health Service. Since its inception, the NHS has been a big employer of migrants,” Freddy says. 

“Well, keeping one’s health is a priority for elderly men like us. And even though Graham and I were less enthused about paying tax as young men, we are dependent on a service, whose existence relies on migrants and the faithful taxpayer,” Trevor says. 

Britain is a tolerant place, whatever the outcome of the referendum. I looked up the definition of tolerance the other day. It said, a willingness to allow the existence of different opinions. The word allow is quite appealing; gives me a sense of superiority. 

Well, this is the end of my story, and I do hope you don’t believe me to be a cynic like my daughter was. I have learned negativity can be harmful to one’s health. It is very on trend to think that you can fall ill because of your own negativity. Although, this does sound individualistic, almost Thatcherite to me. I’m sure Buddha would’ve said that if we all collectively look after one another, then there is greater chance of widespread, physical and mental healing. I’ll have to look it up after my session at the pub. 

“No jacquerie then, my friends? More a yearning for the status quo. My, how we’ve changed,” I say. “Good health to us all. Or let’s just hope our livers aren’t pickled by the end of today, at least.” We raise our glasses once more. 

And I wish you well too.