One or two regular readers have, in private, mentioned that it’s been a while since my prankster friend Barney appeared in a column. They wondered about his health and enquired if he was well or had he succumbed to one of his pranks, which would be an unsurprising inevitability, I admit. (When I say ‘one or two regular readers’ of course I am not privy to the stats on how many do actually read this column but I can confirm two at least, so ‘one or two’ may in reality have to be rewritten as ‘The two regular readers’...)
Anyhow, the news on Barney is that he is, in the words of an 80s song by the band Simple Minds, alive and kicking. Not simple of mind, though, because Barney on occasion buys The Australian newspaper, which is the only newspaper in Sydney that carries the cryptic crossword published by The Times — that high water mark in the cryptic crossword world, although I know The Guardian will beg to differ.
Can one do The Times and be simple-minded? I don’t know. I personally think not, but I don’t wish to be caught infringing on the rules of political incorrectness, especially in times when political correctness has appeared to have swung so far to the far right it’s virtually sucked the juice out of writing and turned the writer into a dry, humourless analyst scrutinising every statement from a plethora of impossible angles.
That I mention political correctness is no accident because whenever Barney’s name is mentioned my mind automatically sees a pair of brackets after his name and within parentheses (Mr Politically Incorrect). Barney of course would rather be dead than admit he is of such disposition. But to be honest — that’s what friends are for, aren’t they? — this charge has followed him around incessantly like a dog chasing its tail.
At each other’s throats
Only recently he invoked a storm that had its origin in his own dining room before blowing out through the windows and doors and encompassing all the others that Mr and Mrs Barney call ‘family and friends’. Of course, in Australia, one says ‘rellies’ (short for relatives), not ‘family’. The first rellie that took exception to one of his table-side utterances was the First Rellie herself, Mrs Barney. Over their bowls of cereal (the only thing they have in common) he allegedly called her ‘a fusspot’.
Mrs Barney claims he actually first called her ‘an old woman’ before adding, ‘and you’re a blinking fusspot.’ I suspect ‘blinking’ is a euphemism for a slightly stronger word but I’ll set my suspicions aside here. Mrs Barney allegedly ‘went to town’ right there in the dining room and, despite her state of agitation, gave him a piece of her mind — a donation, Barney says, he could well have done without because — as is the logical progression in any family dispute — ‘one thing led to another’.
Soon the Barneys were donating pieces of their mind with a rapidity that defied reason and somehow in the confusion, alleges Barney, his ‘innocent statement’ got turned into an outrageous lie, especially after his mother-in-law walked into the storm and learnt that he’d called ‘all’ old women fusspots.
“To be honest,” says Barney (where ‘honest’ I suspect is an antonym but once again I’ll set my suspicions aside), “To be honest, Kev, it’s the two of them who have regularly called me an old woman. Every time I grumble,” (that I can vouch is the imperial truth!), “they say, ‘Oh Barney, stop being an old woman’.”
Anyhow, after being outnumbered and lectured on his insensitivity, he drove away in a fury to report the ‘alleged’ incident to me over a simmering cup of coffee, while they went out and bought him a psychedelic necktie as a make-up token.
“I hate the colours, it’s just too hippie and retro,” he said, “but if I fuss it’ll just reopen old wounds.”
Sometimes, I suspect, political correctness is learnt the hard way.
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia