"England Expectorates"

As Nelson may have said when surrounded by hundreds of phlegmatic jack tars just before the Battle of Trafalgar was joined.

Spitting is a quite despicable and easily avoided habit. I can understand and even sympathise with someone who is spitting to eject a winged insect that has unfortunately landed on his tongue or someone who has mistakenly taken a swig of bleach for home made lemonade but I cannot abide to see people (of all ages) just standing around spitting sputum at some random target.

Don’t people understand that when they spit it lands 99% of the time on the ground and why would any sentient being with a frisson of love for his (or her) country want to defile it by spitting on it? It’s a bit of a conundrum to me.

Most of all, spitting is a well known transmitter for disease, predominantly tubercolosis (TB), a disease that was eradicated in the UK but has now come back at startling speed, anecdotally spread by infected immigrants who are not mandatorily medical checked when they come to this country. A lot of Asia is infected with TB and rate of spread is not helped by the millions of people who chew betel nuts, a by-product of which is excess mastication production and a gobful of bitter liquid which is projectile vomited by the chewer leaving a large, black puddle of gob for someone to tread on and then smear it on carpets and other fabrics before the virus gets into the bloodstream by the accidental transmission method.

I spit, when I have a cold and the production of snot is indeed voluminous and viscous and so is catarrh, but usually into receptacle ie beer can, bit of convenient paper, toilet paper; sometimes I’m caught short reflexively and sneeze snot directly into the palm of my hand. You won’t see me relaxing against a McDonald’s window gobbing saliva at will just because I’ve got into the habit of doing it.

And one last point. Snot ejaculation prevention techniques can be successful. The most off-putting sound heard to man is a labour camp of 1000 Indian labourers performing their dawn chorus of hawking, hacking and rasping at back of the throat for the phlegm that’s blocking their airways. The coordinated expectorate is truly the most disgusting performance ever to have been witnessed and contrasts markedly with the pleasure it appears to bring them.

So, for Christmas, might I recommend you buy your loved ones handkerchiefs; I prefer the highly absorbent ones.

Journal Comments