JUST CALL ME GERRY...
Not sure I can keep up with the world for much longer. I`ll be 80 next year, provided that God in Her Infinite Wisdom grants me that privilege and I suppose I should make more of an effort to `keep up with the times.` Trouble is, the times in which we live become more baffling, more bewildering and, indeed, bordering on the bizarre what with people getting upset and offended by anything and everything and issues revolving around gender identity.
A case in point recently saw a 27-year old young lady (if I`m allowed to refer to her as such without being branded as both ageist and sexist) complaining that she had been referred to as `honey` by an older male manager at Virgin Rail, when passengers on a crowded train had been wrongly told that they could use first class for a small fee. "You want to complain, go ahead, honey," he is alleged to have said. She was even more upset when the company`s response asked if she would prefer the terms `pet` or `love` instead of `honey.`
Now to many, especially of my generation, such terms would be meant and be taken as terms of endearment. But this time the young lady`s complaint was that the male manager had `dismissed` it with `that hideously patronising word women shudder at....` The company, of course, has apologised.
It`s not for nothing that I have chosen a few snowflakes to illustrate this particular tale.
But on the subject of terms of endearment, I always remember my dear old, dearly departed Mum invariably referring to me as `my duck.` I suspect it had its origin in Swindon. Had I experienced this in current times and the current climate, I might have taken offence at this, especially as it would have invaded my human right to chose my own species as well as my own gender. Given the choice, I would have preferred to be recognised as a giraffe, so just call me Gerry and we`ll forget all about it. Deal?
A case in point recently saw a 27-year old young lady (if I`m allowed to refer to her as such without being branded as both ageist and sexist) complaining that she had been referred to as `honey` by an older male manager at Virgin Rail, when passengers on a crowded train had been wrongly told that they could use first class for a small fee. "You want to complain, go ahead, honey," he is alleged to have said. She was even more upset when the company`s response asked if she would prefer the terms `pet` or `love` instead of `honey.`
Now to many, especially of my generation, such terms would be meant and be taken as terms of endearment. But this time the young lady`s complaint was that the male manager had `dismissed` it with `that hideously patronising word women shudder at....` The company, of course, has apologised.
It`s not for nothing that I have chosen a few snowflakes to illustrate this particular tale.
But on the subject of terms of endearment, I always remember my dear old, dearly departed Mum invariably referring to me as `my duck.` I suspect it had its origin in Swindon. Had I experienced this in current times and the current climate, I might have taken offence at this, especially as it would have invaded my human right to chose my own species as well as my own gender. Given the choice, I would have preferred to be recognised as a giraffe, so just call me Gerry and we`ll forget all about it. Deal?
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