I sometimes pity my neighbours. Like now at the hour of 3:30 AM I am playing Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture at the loudest setting on my hi-fi,
Trust me when i say that my stereo is LOUD. it can be heard clearly from a distance of six hundred meters over the noise of Edinburgh's rush hour traffic.
It sounds exactly like what I imagine the invasion of Moscow must have sounded like when Napoleon decided he wanted a new place to call home. obviously without the musical bits, unless the short French one was partial to having a symphony orchestra accompany him on his little sojourns into the wider world.
There is something about war that I cannot agree with, no matter what the reason for it is, the killing of innocent people and soldiers who are only acting upon orders from up on high.
Now don’t get me wrong I’m all for the big explosions and the noise, it’s just like a fireworks show but without the baked potatoes and barbeque chicken wings in hot sauce, it’s the unnecessary death’s I have a problem with.
I always knew I was against war and could never be a soldier in any way.
The notion of putting on a uniform, grabbing a gun and going off into a strange land to shoot at people who I have no quarrel with is totally alien to me.
I know for sure that if I were ever to be sent call up papers I would be the first person in the line to be ruled out on medical grounds.
If my asthma didn’t cut it and my flat feet weren’t good enough to prevent my early death then I would try like a bastard to get off on mental health grounds.
When the psych analyst held up the Rorschach test pictures I'd tell him that they all looked like a woman being buggered by a baboon that is dressed as a clown.
Guaranteed, first class ticket to the loony bin, a nice warm jacket with long sleeves that tie at the rear and a comfy cell with soft padded walls. And not a rifle in sight.