When the daughter engages, she is profound. She laughs at something you’ve said and sighs: “Oh, you boomers. What are you like?”
When men came home from the hardships of World War Two, there was a boom in babies and it lasted quite a while. So, yon “boomers” term is for babies born from 1946 until 1964, when men must have got tired of, er, booming.
Nowadays, it’s not just about the dates. Baby boomers are the demographic cohort – that just means a bunch of people – representing those born between those years. They are supposed to have rejected and redefined traditional values. Yes, we did. We had long hair, flared jeans and platform heels. We didn’t get up to as much hanky-panky as the history books claim. We are now, apparently, the wealthiest, most active generation and have the most disposable income for food, clothing and retirement programmes.
The most active? The wealthiest? Retirement programmes? I hope the editor of The Press and Journal is reading this. Please, sir, may I have a big pay rise so I can become a stereotypical boomer?
Millennials, also known as Generation Y, are the bunch consisting of poor wee mites born between 1981 and 1996. They are the first age group to have grown up in a world of digital technology, which has shaped their identities and created lasting cultural and social attitudes. They are geeks. Don’t I know it?
Our millennial daughter is a digital worker but she’s very focused on healthy eating and fitness. She exercises every single day. Meanwhile, I’m watching a TV show I don’t even like because the remote fell on the floor.
Don’t call it a Dey for ferry sailings
Some readers said they nearly fell on the floor last week when I dared ferry company Caledonian MacBrayne to serve the outer isles by putting one of us heathery-eared natives onto their board of directors. How ridiculous that there’s no one to give feedback from the main area they serve. Sadly, no feedback yet from chief executive Duncan Mackison, who still hasn’t found time to put pen to paper after I sent him last Wednesday’s P&J.
Transport minister Graeme Dey answered my call for action over the closure of the MV Hebrides’s second deck. But the mealy-mouthed minister only said he could “allow the mezzanine deck to be fully deployed with some amendments to timetables.” That is Holyrood-speak for: “If you want the upper deck you can have it, but we will cut the number of sailings.” No vital jobs to be created. Do the decent thing or we soon won’t see the light of Dey.
Like some allegedly esteemed island councillors also need to do. There’s a stooshie going on over a probe into groups of our elected reps on our islands’ council. First, there was to be an investigation into conduct, then there was no investigation. Then no one was to be named, and now details of a gang of alleged malcontents have been leaked.
If the writings of other elected members are true, there seem to be some councillors who drag themselves into the chamber to do nothing other than vote against everything. What about considering each issue on its merits? What about finding consensus for the interests of islanders? What about resigning if any of these shameful allegations are true?
Engage and serve or go home
We have allegedly disrespectful elected members who are happy to pick up their generous allowances – you see, that is the crucial bit that the sensible councillors didn’t have the courage to say – but who seem to have forgotten how to serve their public. CalMac syndrome, I call it.
Listen to me, boomer councillors. We’re watching you. Roll up your sleeves and go to it
When you’re elected to serve the people, it’s different. You engage and serve the people. That comes first. If there is any time left, you can indulge in your childish political posturing.
Lack of engagement, even for supposed political reasons, is just a symptom of incompetence. It’s the same everywhere. Show us what you can do or we show you the door. Now listen to me, boomer councillors. We’re watching you. Roll up your sleeves and go to it, or go home.
Advice dispensed, when is lunch in this home? Sometimes Mrs X doesn’t engage with me. She swapped the label of my favourite wine the other day with a cheap supermarket plonk. Yuck. Revenge is a dish best served hot. I have now swapped round the labels on her wee jars of spices. Mrs X does not know it yet but her thyme is cumin.
