In the worng place with the wrong priorities

2 04 2011

When I went to Cardiff last week I felt a constant nagging sensation all the way down, it felt like I had forgotten something. When I turned into Cathedral Road I saw a sign for the union “Unite”. Then I remembered what it was.

I should have been in London at the demo against the Tory cuts, I was letting myself down. I went to the Mochyn Du to supress the nagging, a mixture of football chat and cider managed to work.

When we left the Mochyn Du, the nagging sensation returned. As I walked through Sophia Gardens I realised I should be in London. As I walked past the crowds I realised that I should be far from the studenty wannabes in their ironic England shirts and boat shoes without socks, I should  far from the English scumbags singing about how “their” RAF  shot down 10 German bombers. The nagging stopped outside the City Arms when fresh cider  and conversations with Ian were back on the menu.

The nagging didn’t resurface for the rest of the day. It withstood the anthems, it withstood the anaemic first half from Wales, it withstood being 15 feet from John Terry and Ashley Cole, it didn’t even resurface when it became clear Wales weren’t going to get a shot on target. The nagging didn’t even return when I heard the patriotic monkeys belting out God save the Queen with the lustiness of the drunken xenophobic pricks they are. My conversation with Ian helped to pass the time very nicely so I felt no nagging. The nagging didn’t return on the train home.

It wasn’t until I got home and turned on the television news that I finally realised what I had missed. Then Oscar sent me the following message on Facebook;

“You should have been in London, not watching bloody football comrade. Wales should have played Sam Vokes, then they might have stood a chance”

“What hell are you playing at?” came to mind quite quickly, followed by a sense of shame.

I could have been part of something fantastic, I could have stood up against those Tory bastards but instead I went to watch a football match. Watching the pictures on  the news reminded me of those World War one recruiting posters with children asking their father “..and what did you do in the war Daddy?” “Well son I went to watch Wales play England.” – “I’m ashamed daddy, why did you do that?”

I could use the excuse that this part of north Wales is the end of the world for radical politics but I could have found out more. I could use the point that the march probably won’t changed anything – Good Old Dave will push on with battering the poor in Britain for the benefit of the rich, but that’s a cop out.

I could tell you about the marches I went, I could tell you how they failed to  on stop our government from bombing Iraq or introducing university tution fees. We could talk about how the Greenham peace camp failed to stop Cruise missiles or the Jarrow march failed to ensure justice but it doesn’t erase the fact I stood by, that I copped out of the decision.

What if everybody did this?

What if everybody abdicated their responsibility for what’s happening in Britain?

What if everybody stood by?

I still feel the shame today.

 

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