Selective Xenophobia.

My mother was one of the least xenophobic people I ever knew among people of her generation. She always told me as a child that ‘there’s good and bad in all people,’ and insisted that I should never judge anybody by their nationality or the colour of their skin. She did allow herself one exception, though. She couldn’t stand the French.

This surprised me and I pressed her on the reason. It seems she saw a French serviceman urinate against a wall during the war. She found it very difficult to admit that. Funny as it is, it demonstrates how attitudes can hinge on such a small thing.

Small thing? Oh dear, we’re back to Mr McGregor. I thought I was over that.

And why didn’t a certain person comment on the post Built In Imperfection? I wonder if she didn’t realise that it was written with her in mind. I sometimes wonder why I bother!

Have you noticed how a certain ‘tone’ creeps into my posts when I’ve had even a small drink? Interesting, since I have a very high alcohol threshold at this time of night. One beer at lunchtime, however, and I’m anybody’s.