25.7.06
18.7.06
You Couldn't Make It Up
A Dutch court (it's always the Dutch, isn't it?) has refused to ban a political party, the PNVD, founded by three self-proclaimed paedophiles, that seeks to first lower and then abolish the age of consent to sex (as well as legalise all drugs and bestiality, but that's par for the course for Dutch parties, right?). Its chairman is also treasurer of Vereniging MARTIJN which, like the NAMBLA, is an association for the acceptance of paedophilia.
[You'll notice that I've finally figured out how to do hyperlinks.]
So, where do we stand on this one, readers? The judge said the freedom to set up a political party is the basis of democracy, and I agree (see 'Please Do Not Offer My God A Peanut'), yet neo-Nazi parties are banned all over Europe (aside: what's worse, Nazism or paedophilia). The PNVD says it wants to encourage discussion and break down taboos, and surely there's more to be gained from listening to and understanding paedophiles than sweeping them under the carpet, only to dust them off for a good old hysterical witch-hunt every now and then. Incidentally, there were renewed calls a month or so ago for a Megan's Law, which makes the sex offenders list, and the location of known paedophiles, available to the American public, to be introduced in Britain (Sarah's Law as campaigned for by the News of the Screws), which would be wholly ineffective because:
- Paedophiles would avoid registering (97% do in Britain, 80% do in the US) and instead go underground, abandoning vital counselling and rehabilitation along the way.
- More than two-thirds of sex offences are committed by someone known to the victim anyway, so additional knowledge of the location of 'stranger' paedophiles would be useless.
- ... not to mention the threat of vigilanteism or the invasion of privacy that convicted and released paedophiles would suffer.
Of course, this third point depends on whether you believe that paedophiles have human rights, just the same as you and me, are humans, just like you and me, or whether you're of the 'well, they should have thought of that first' brigade. The Geneva Convention suggests they do, every tabloid in the world suggests they don't. Sure, someone can serve five years for GBH and still be a loveable rogue who just went off the tracks, but paedophiles? Well, they 'have more genes in common with crabs than they do with you and me', don't they?
You see, I feel a certain degree of sympathy for paedophiles. Imagine being unfortunate to have a sexual preference that was completely impossible to fulfill, except by dreadfully injuring a child. Imagine waking up tomorrow morning and realising you could never have sex again, and that even the desire to caused all kinds of self-revulsion because of the pain and suffering it would cause someone else (Marc Dutroux is about as representitive of paedophiles as Jack the Ripper was of prostitutes' clients). For every one 'sick paedo' the tabs scream about, there must be countless others who have willingly undertaken celibacy as the course of least harm. Some, of course, crack, and become the 'sick paedoes', and until there is some rational discussion of the matter, as advocated by the PNVD, and some alternative solution is found, both the witch hunts and the secret abuses will continue.
17.7.06
Italian Quickies
There's nothing worse than someone banging on about what a wonderful holiday they've had, especially when there are no photos to hand, so, in true Exileonpatrickstreet style, here are a few pithy observations.
- Just as I got into the swing of swimming, snorkelling and other such unnatural water-based activities that seem to be compulsary in waters as clear and warm as the Mediterranean, I gouged giant gashes in my right hand and knee on a rock, thus beaching me. You see, I'm a little nervous in water, so when I got a little of the briney down my snorkel, I panicked, deciding that throwing myself at a rock was a lot safer than treading water - all four feet of it. The sea anenome stings were an added bonus.
- Nonetheless, we've decided to return to the site of my ordeal, the island of Ustica, for our honeymoon. All the plusses of the Sicilian/Mediterranean lifestyle without the drawbacks of Palmertian city life.
- At Palermo airport, on our way home, the Special One and I adopted a Canadian called Lasha Heche who had spent the last 10 months au pair-ing in 'Geneva, Switzerland', as she put it. She spoke fluent French, almost fluent English, passable German and plenty of Italian (the Englishwoman in the queue next to us had been in Palermo a month and coulnd't pronounce 'ciao'). Our Canadian had planned to spend two days in Stanstead Airport Hotel until her flight home, so it was almost a moral obligation to take her in.
- Irish lads playing football on the beach will just welly it anywhere in a transparent excuse for a free-for-all. Italians take throw-ins, waste time and play offside.
- Italians are quite possibly the most beautiful nation of people I've ever seen. The Special One had dreadful trouble finding a size 6 pair of shorts, what with the ubiquity of child-bearing hips which go to make up such wonderful curvy figures. They're sort of like the anti-Paris Hilton. The men are quite something to behold too, especially when stripped to their underpants and painted green, white and red (see below).
- Don't go to Sicily in mid-July. We were sweating like a paedophile in a Barney suit (thank you, LuluPop) by 11am each morning. Amazingly, though, it rained one afternoon, and the streets steamed. It rained again at 3am the next morning - a torrential downpour - but no-one cared, because everyone was too busy celebrating Italy's World Cup victory. The photos tell the story far better, but I don't think I'll ever forget the celebrations.
- We had a beer in front of the Teatro Massimo, where the finale of The Godfather 3 was filmed. We were advised not to make the 40km-trip to Corleone.
- More quickies when they come to me. I hope you're insanely jealous.

