I live for bant.

"Don't be a such a pussy. Man up!" "God you have such rapey eyes" "Cameras weren't built for our colour. We just blend into the background!"

If I had a penny for every time I heard someone say one of these things, I'd pay off my student loan in under a year and have enough to buy a small house. And maybe a little car. This term is often said in jest to make someone - a friend sometimes - do something stupid or down 3 more beers. I've had this said to me quite a few times and I never really looked into it. In fact, I'm certain a lot of people say it and have it said to them because it's something we associate with being young, impulsive, spontaneous fun people who live for bant.
Hold on: "live for bant?" What the hell does that mean? Oh, you've never heard of "banter?" Well, sit down and get comfy so Avid Scribbler can tell you all about it. For those not in the know, banter is the exchange of teasing remarks meant in a friendly manner. This, of course, is highly contested because "banter" is often used as a cover-up for cutting remarks that reflect an element of truth. The problem is when a particular comment is made that makes you think: "Should I laugh or go in with a cheeky left hook?"
I've had many a moment like that especially if someone says to me: "Yes fam, what you saying?" (to which a black eye is needed) or "Get in the kitchen woman." Well, for starters just because we're both brown and from London does not mean that I'm your "fam" so don't use that word around me. Secondly, I'm not a Michelin starred chef so you'd go hungry. But what annoys me the most, is the response: "Oh calm down, was only banter. Cor someone's on their period!" (that's "banter" apparently).

Yes, he does have a point. 

Whilst "banter" can be genuinely funny, witty and clever it is seriously misused. The sinister side of "banter" that I've experienced comes under "ethnic banter" "rape banter" and "girl banter." I wasn't really amused by them and didn't get why they'd been put under the irritating umbrella term "banter." I like to think that it's nice when everyone tries to be a comedian - some pull it off, others shouldn't give up their day job. A certain individual (not dropping names, that'd be mean) piped up with: "Yeah you love curry innit? I think it should be made into perfume, Asians will go mad for it. But only if it's free. Ahaha, ethnic banter."
Everyone roared with laughter except me and my "one is not amused" face. I thought: oh sh*t did I miss the punchline? But really: it just wasn't that funny. Another one is when I talk about Feminism to boys and other girls. The conversation often flows like this:
A: "I swear they hate men? Omg do you hate men?!"
Me: On the contrary, I love men my dear.
A: "It's a waste of time for extreme people who have nothing better to do."
Me: Not really, the day opinions like that and others disappear will be the day I hang up my Feminism cape.

I appreciate wit, a dry sense of humour and even dark humour at times, but what I and many others certainly do not appreciate nor find amusing are crude, lewd comments that are all too often passed off as "banter" and something we shouldn't take too seriously even if there is a back handed comment hidden in its midst. Whilst comedy is used to poke fun or lighten up a subject everyone gingerly tiptoes around, the answer is not banter nor people who think that they are the "King of Banterbury." You're not.
Banter is often used as an excuse to make derogatory remarks about someone but trying to pass it off in a light- hearted manner. I don't care what word is used to dress it up: at its very core it is rude and damn offensive. Another phrase I can't stand is: "No offence but..." - if you're going to offend me, come out with it. And the other: "I'm not racist but..." - clearly you have some form of complex, please be honest with yourself before complaining about people that have put your knickers in a twist.

Wireless

BISH BASH BOSH! Musings of Scribbler has officially returned with its weekly blog! 

I know I said the 1st Tuesday of June but truth be told, I can't stay away from blogging and reading your comments and suggestions! However, I am pleased to announce that I have finished  my finals. I've also been thrust into a foggy maze of "free time" which I'm really not used to. I've spent the past 3 years worrying, procrastinating, crying, working my a*se off and all of a sudden it's gone. Poof! Gone! I just don't know what to do with all this free time - if you have any suggestions (no lewd ones please) do let me know in the comments section.

Today's post is on a Wednesday - sacrebleu ! I received the terrible news that my laptop screen had died. I hate how suddenly these things happen - I went to make a cuppa and came back to my room only to be greeted with a blank screen. I did what anyone would do: texted half the contacts on my phone, coaxed it, whispered sweet nothings into its speakers, shouted at it, used colourful language, begged it, pleaded with it and finally accepted defeat. It's unbelievable how emotional I was - you'd think someone had died or a Shakespearean tragedy had come to life. I nursed my baby (yes...it is my baby) as I legged it to the bus stop. As I sat on the bus cradling my baby I felt hot tears beginning to prick at the backs of my eyes.The sky filled with grey clouds and the air was heavy. It was though the weather understood my pain and cued dramatic scenery just for me. This is insane, I thought. I'm getting teary over a laptop. 

Long story short: I will not have my baby for 2-3 weeks as it's gone off to be repaired. Whilst it was an emotional experience I was shocked by how dependent I am on technology. 

Day #2 into this interesting experiment and so far I actually feel quite liberated: I don't feel the nagging urge to check Twitter or Facebook to see what that 1 notification is all about. I don't feel obliged to reply to people immediately. I've also had more time to relax, be creative and think of new ideas for my blog, future projects and general self. Let's see if this feeling continues for the new few days!

In fact, in general, we're all extremely dependent on technology whether it's our iPhones, tablets, mobiles, BBM, Whatsapp, texting etc. On our way back to campus after yesterday's exam, I noticed two boys walking in the street. They were clearly walking together yet both were on their phones (I'd laugh if they were texting each other!) but it spoke volumes to me. Is this what we've become? I get vexed when I'm having a conversation with someone and they're on their bladdy phone half the time. It's almost like my conversation skills aren't enough for them or their riveting chat. More to the point: it's rude. 

People who text and walk - I will not go out of my way to make extra space for you. Child avert thine eyes away from thy telephone device and pay attention to your surroundings! You don't want to have to walk into me or a tree. I also hate people who text and drive: especially if I'm in the car. Those who know me, know I'm famed for my facial expressions. I do not want to have to pull my "One is not amused" face at you and your mobile. You either pull over and text, or answer the message when we have safely stopped moving in the vehicle. Is it really so hard!? 

I reckon that one day, we'll all have RSI in our thumbs from our longstanding love affair with technology. Maybe we'll evolve to have freakishly long, strong thumbs - who knows I'll laugh if that does happen one day. Darwin eat your heart out. 

The boy in the green jumper

I held his little hand in mine as we walked home. I was aware of the whispers made by nosy old birds at the Post Office and the exchanged looks when they discovered that we were related. Holding hands. It's a complex thing if you think about it. Holding his hand made a statement; a bold one at that. It bound us together and told people: "Yes, I know this child. He is my boy."
I smiled fondly at him as he excitedly chattered about his day at school, his friends and what he had learnt in his little light voice.
"I made a new friend today!" he exclaimed breathlessly.
"Really?" I replied with a big smile. "What was their name?"
"Henry," he continued. "You saw him at the school gate with his mum. The boy in the green jumper."
I cast my mind back to the little boy in the green jumper manically waving at us as we walked up the road. Why couldn't we address people like that anymore? The girl in the red coat, the man with a grey hat or the simple image of a boy in a green jumper?  That's how it was back in the days before the slogans of "Keep Britain White" were sprawled all over the walls. People call them "the good ol' days" but how was it good when all they did was terrorise a bunch of people because they were different?
I was one of those people, until the day this little larry was born and I held him in my arms. A helpless bundle wrapped in blankets protecting him from the cruel looks and cutting whispers from strangers who gobbed at his pram when we walked past. Helpless, meek bundle but didn't the Lord begin his human life in the same way? My boy was more than a bundle of blankets or a name on the register. A new generation. A new chapter in the story. A fresh start to redeem us and bring us forward. A shrub on an ever changing landscape.
Things have certainly changed from my day. He wouldn't be beaten up for having a "funny accent" or be confronted by hooded men with firebombs ready to throw at you because "you weren't from round here." He'd have it easier than we did. It was worth coming over every time I looked at my little boy, heard his laugh, saw him smile and held him. My little boy and millions like him were the change we needed, craved and looked to.
"Grandpa?"
I jerked from my thoughts to see him staring up at me. He smiled, "Were you listening to me?"
"No," I said. "What did you say?"
"It's ok I'll tell you at home," he answered as we continued walking.
I felt a wave of happiness wash over me as he started to sing an old song  from my childhood that I'd taught him. I laughed and joined in with him. My thick, heavy accent forming the words with ease mixed with his light British-Guyanese voice tracing the lyrics curiously complemented each other. My little boy and I singing and pulling faces at each other as I opened the front door and kissed my wife on the cheek.
Regardless of the motherland, wherever you are based becomes home. And home is where the heart is.