The Power of One

You see it is all about the power of one. Oneself is the resin that history is made of. It only takes one person to make one decision to change all of history for all time. One. That’s all… like the disgustingly naughty letter F. There are many works and words in the English language but none so offensive or dirty as the letter F. One letter. When said with other letters, the D has far less power to offend. Even the letter L has less offence than the D. When we write a word it ought it have a simple direct and comprehensive meaning in itself, No, the letter F just refuses to be normal. It even wants to be proud by standing above the line and height of all but capital letters. Only Versals are greater in stature, but the F is just rude. Of course you may be puzzled with this discourse on the simple letter and wonder what the hell it has to do with the power of one. I give you full permission to wonder. I also present you with a duck. What a lovely animal. It waddles and is so inoffensive and even tasty when roasted but not so with fuck. There it is. The f word. If I said I wanted to duck off for a minute you’d not be bothered and agree… change that d to an f and it’s just coarse and vulgar and some french idiot decided that Saxon English was a poor excuse for a language. Fuck is English. Very olde Inglysche. Older than my family history, old in English. The German fich is so much more inoffensive yet even sublime but the meaning and placement of the letter F is just absurdly rude. Number six. “F” For fail. Fk in digital conversations too, via radio waves and the pervasive parental admonishment not to use the F word. The Power of One. One letter. It is all of the parts of speech in a single word. It is verb, noun, adjective, expletive; future, present and past tense-able it is procreative and destructive. It is constructive and destructive. It is addictive and extremely well used. It is one word that is a cliché and yet not. It jumps out of your vocabulary like a vulgar swan. The Power of One.

The French idiot who changed English language did not give “fuck” a chance to become socially acceptable. As much as I don’t like using it and cringe at the thought of using it as an example, it is definitive. The definition of self-aggrandising filthy despicable banal words used since time began. Oh, so you don’t believe me about it? Fine, which do you prefer: pig or pork, fuck or fig? They are exactly the same thing with distinctly different approaches to convey the identical meaning. The power of one. One choice does not leave the avenues of decision open. It closes them. Forever.

Success is the journey to achieving each of your goals. Goals are the markers on your journey to achieving your dreams. Dreams are your ideas of what your ideal life should be. It is the domain of dreamers who achieve their goals that are considered successful and it is the unimaginatively stupid who decide that success is a destination to arrive at because they don’t have the faintest idea of the Power of One. Duck. Fuck. You ought to understand by now. It’s as clear as day. Duck off. Duck it. Take him for a duck. But you can never get ducked. You must be quacks to duck the real meaning of one decision. The French idiot won out in the end. Now it is officially rude to say fuck in polite circles but they themself say it rather politely and with great relish and pomp. It sounds as if it belongs in their speeches. It doesn’t even sound coarse or vulgar because the polite way to use the f letter is in a nonchalant and underhanded almost casual “forgotten that it existed” kind of way. Fuck is not a word predisposed top announcing is imminent arrival either. Fuck just assists in a puff of smoky vulgarity, explosive, virulent, violent and obscenely offensive.

Like the day my grand uncle won the Victoria Cross. I’m sure he said it. He must have. All that breeding and bravado means he knew what it was but, also that he knew how to use it. What in the world do you say when you are standing with your horse’s reins in your hand, an 18 pounder cannon behind your horse’s arse and then for God’s sake! We’ve run out of ammunition! Damn it all to hell. What am I to do without ammunition? We are sitting ducks with three enemy machine gun nests and a cannon with empty guns. Fuck! We’re dead. Charge! And so he jumped on his horse and dragged the cannon along and pretended to snipe at the enemy with his rifle, on a galloping horse with a gun that had not a single round of ammunition. Over open sights he aimed his canon and shot nothing at the enemy. It’s incredibly difficult to shoot accurately from horseback and hit your mark, but temporary leuiteneant Robert Vaughan Gorle did. He killed the German line with nothing and scared the fuck out of them so that the first nest surrendered and then without thinking of safety, turned their own machine gun on the other nest and fired at them. Upon realising that the British had taken the first gun and was firing over open sights from the hip at them, the second nest of Germans shat themselves too. The British fuck was firing real bullets at the German line. There were no pretend deaths in the Great War. They fucking died. Permanently. Uncle Rob’s volley distracted the enemy enough that the allies realised what was happening and all of them jumped up and ran towards the next forward point of safety in support of the Lieutenant. Good ol’ Blighty! Then horror of horrors, he jumped up when the gun jammed and ran over to the next nest and took that gun and ripped off a load at the third nest of Germans! The Horse, is arse, a pistol, cannon and not a single round of British ammunition left, broke the back of the enemy at Ledegham in Belgium. 1918. 1st of October. He was pissed off. He decided that if he was going to die, fuck it, he’d do it gloriously! Not quite the way my beloved grandmother told me, but most likely the way he thought to himself, our dear uncle Rob…

He’d be proud if he were alive today to see his famous medal in the Imperial War Museum today. This very day. He’d also be extremely pissed off if he knew some filthy fucker had stolen the damn thing from his sister! If he broke the will of the Germans without ammunition in a real war, what in the blazes would he be like in peacetime about this!? (Yes, apparently and interobang is actually considered officially as a mark of punctuation as a singly expressed idea. No I don’t care. It fits there quite well, thank you very much for offering. Time to duck off.

The Power of One. The greatest power known to man is his ability to decide and stick to his guns. Like the letter F, it makes history. Big history. One man. One decision. Alone.


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