SCOTLAND'S bard Rabbie Burns wrote, "Oh the gift that God could give us, to see ourselves as others see us." Often it's only through the eyes of strangers that our strangeness is revealed, and there are few places stranger than our place.
I remember a friend visiting these shores coming to me, distressed and confused, asking why people were being rude to him.
I explained what they perceived as rudeness was, in fact, our way of showing affection. I warned they'd only need worry if people started being polite as that would be a sure sign of dislike.
If you don't believe me, when was the last time you paid a friend a compliment? Better still, how would you feel if a close friend greeted you with, 'God, you're looking great. Really, honestly, you look amazing'? I bet you'd reply with a string of expletives ending with, 'Aye, and I suppose you think you look great yourself, ya ugly waster'.
On those rare occasions when we attempt to say something positive, it's invariably wrapped in so much deprecating abuse as to sound like a verbal attack. Amazingly, this is so integral to our culture as to go unnoticed, until, that is, you travel to somewhere which celebrates positivity, such as the US.
I remember on my first visit being shocked when everyone I met suggested I 'have a nice day'. I found this impertinent; I mean, who were they to tell me what sort of day I should have? I felt like replying, 'I'll have a sh**e day if I want, no harm to you mate'.
Things have escalated over the years and, on my last visit, Americans were suggesting I have an 'awesome day'. Seriously?
I can count the awesome days in my life on one hand, such as the birth of my babies and, of course, my wedding day. No, hold on, I'm only saying that to please the wife; in truth, I found my wedding day stressful and was bloody glad when it was over.
Why anyone would go through it more than once is beyond me. See, an American would never admit that, so maybe the upside of our perceived rudeness is an honesty uncommon elsewhere.
This all came to mind during my bi-weekly visit to wee Sean at Cambridge Barbers. I get my haircut every two weeks, even though there's so little remaining I could probably stretch that out to once a month.
I've argued with Sean I should get a reduced rate due to reduced hair, but he's having none of it. He counters that trimming my beard makes up the time he'd have spent cutting non-existent hair.
As I've mentioned previously in this column, hair loss doesn't bother me; I'd shave what little remains off but for a wife who threatens to leave if I do so.
She thought when I shaved my head during Covid that I looked like a thug. Not true, I've always looked like a thug, hair or no hair.
But back to our inability to give or receive a compliment. I was on my way to pay for my haircut – full rate – when I received a typical NI compliment. One of the other barbers - it wouldn't be fair to tell you his name, so let's call him Paul Matthews - stopped me as I passed his chair.
Holding up his scissors to add gravitas he announced, loud enough for all to hear, 'You know what Jake, I've never rated you as a comic, but I love your column in the Irish News'.
And there you have it, what the Lord giveth so he taketh away. I've no doubt Paul meant no malice in what he said. Thankfully I didn't take offence; who am I to question Paul's credentials as a comedy reviewer, but, as a barber, well, there's a reason I've always gone to Sean.
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IF you fancy a night out, I'm on stage with Tim McGarry, Colin Murphy and Wendy Wason in the Ulster Hall on Thursday October 13 in a benefit gig for the Integrated Education Fund.
God knows, those integrated children need all our help. Denied a proper religious education, what will the wee dotes have to rebel against later in life?
I've never understood the need to change our wonderful, religiously-segregated schools. I mean - apart from the small blip of a 30-year internecine conflict - separating our children from the age of 4 to 18 has been an outstanding success. Aye, right.
