I don't get it. Really. I just do not fucking get it. What the fuck is it that we're supposed to be celebrating? Our potato-faced obesity? Our well-deserved international reputation for being drunken morons, financial retards? Our joyous national acceptance of physical, emotional and fiscal rape by our perceived betters, whether it be the English or a pack of barely literate gombeens? Woo hoo! We're pathetic! Isn't it fucking brilliant? Crack us open another 10am can of Smithwicks there.
And as for the parade. I said to Common Law, I said 'What even is a parade anyway?' And Common Law said, so she did, 'I know what a parade is but I'm slightly surprised that you don't.' How we didn't laugh. Because really, what the fuck is a parade? People stand for hours, closely surrounded by other personal space disregarding people just to wait for other people to walk past them. Occasionally one of the walking people fucks a stick in the air and catches it. And all the time the non-walkers push and shove and talk and breathe and stink and leak. And as the parade limps to its conclusion and this filthy crowd dissipates everyone moves on to the traditional afternoon of vomiting and senseless violence. No wonder we are all so proud of being born on this particular lump of turf.
The last time the Minute family embarked on this journey was four years ago, and now, the memory having faded sufficiently in Riker's pre-teen skull, we are doomed to walk, nay stand, on this road again. I will take no joy in the inevitable proving of my correctness on all of the above points. I can only hope that I am the victim of a premature stabbing and thus get to spend the day having a nice twelve hour lacerated lie down on the plastic chairs of my local Accident and Emergency.
Have a safe day.