Glove with needlestick

It’s not as though I can raise a gloved fist in outrage against prejudice, like a Black Power salute.
What would I be protesting about? Gardening? The availability of Bass? *Paul Lambert? Everything?
My gender isn’t under threat (though some think men are redundant, the Y chromosome will die out!)
and I’m not gay or transgender. My most challenging difficulties are the spendthriftiness I call generosity,
being overweight and the unfortunate habit of putting my foot in it. I’m not poor, or lonely. I don’t feel
unrepresented politically – or no more than the next person (no, not her, she’s an asylum-seeking single mum 
from Somalia – I meant the next, next person next to her with the beer belly and the Rolling Stones badge),
and whilst I’m tetchily grumpy most of the time, whether with my wife or the goldfish, I don’t actually have
one, single thing to complain about. I get free bus travel, which has taken me as far afield as Glenrothes.
I’m blessed in ways most of the world can barely imagine. So why would I protest? When bread is buttered 
my way up, any complaint seems disingenuous or patronising. And no one listens to older white men anyway,
except themselves. So I’ve decided the best protest I can make is – to love. Love like there’s no tomorrow. 
Love till the rivets pop. Love with all my being. Love as simply as a greeting card. Make love not war was
the slogan in the sixties, but I’m just using the first bit: Make love. And I’m going to hold my fist up wearing
a transparent, polythene glove, as it reminds me of a condom, so that everyone can see who and what I am.



*Paul Lambert is the manager of Aston Villa FC.

Just noticed this in The Independent http://ind.pn/1Mb9wbu