Misplaced Courtesies

WARNING! WARNING WARNING! RANT AHEAD!

What possible reason can the BBC amongst others, have for dignifying terrorists, religious hate-purveyors, murderers, thugs and other scum with the title of 'Mr' (or indeed 'Mrs', 'Miss', or  'Ms')?

Makes my blood boil, so much that I may well post further examples in the future.

Meanwhile at the BBC, peers of the realm are frequently referred to by their given names, a kind of reverse snobbery I think - unless of course said peers are lefties and may have expressed a desire to be addressed thus which in my view, is rather sad in itself.

Readers of this blog who have been robust enough to remain loyal may recall that I lived for six years in France.  I remarked to a cousin that I found it charming that even the young there greeted each other with certain courtesies - two kisses (three in Haute Savoie) and/or a handshake.  My cousin agreed that this was charming indeed, "a great social lubricant" was his observation about this politeness.

Here in England we seem to have got it wrong in two senses.

Until the next time

UPDATE:

Here's another example: "Mr Collins" indeed!  I think not.

"Nicely Put"

Lord Byron, "mad, bad and dangerous to know" - which indeed he was - is a good example of how complex indeed is the human character:

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sank chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me—

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:—

Long, long shall I rue thee

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

With silence and tears.

Until the next time

Hoist by one's own petard - in a way

Mr Onymous has shown himself to be of a somewhat impatient disposition, with a comment on my most recent (OK two weeks ago) post:

"This blog is intended to offer odds and ends of information that I hope will be interesting and amusing. Perhaps less amusing will be my occasional rants and metaphorical sighs about and at the world we live in, its governance and population."

yes please ...WHEN ??? 

For the time being it seems that the muse has deserted me, although in writing this, the idea occurs to me that perhaps there are amongst you those who are heartily sick of the Olympic/Paralympic Games, though probably not as heartily sick as I am.

Thanks largely to the greed of Bernard Charles Ecclestone, the BBC no longer provides TV coverage of all the Grands Prix, so today I had to make do with the coverage on Radio 5 of what was apparently a thrilling Italian Grand Prix.  This coverage was interrupted several times by someone droning on at great length about some marathon.  Yawn/Rage/Yawn/Rage

Until the next time