As migrants and " refugees " storm our countries and demand, yes demand, that we hand over our culture and way of life to them, I find myself wondering where it will all end.
Where their so-called "need " is greater than our right. Possession is 9/10th of the law they say. Yet, why is it that I feel that their " want ' has superseded our " right' ?
And it all comes down to feeling like a backseat driver in our own car. We are no longer at the wheel and we are being chauffeured around and no longer sitting in the driver's seat of our own lives.
Let me tell you a tale that might explain things. You know me, I like an analogy every now and again.
As I approach 70 years of age, I have found that my knees and hips don't behave very well. They are little buggers to be fair. I wake up in the morning with a crook knee, a crook back or a crook hip. Or all of the above. Oh, for those days when I leaped around a squash court, ran 10 km every day and looked like a young blonde bombshell
Take the last couple of weeks for example.
My bloody knee decided to part company with me on less than friendly terms and I was left hobbling with bursitis. And, before you ask, I am not jabbed.
As you all know by now, Redhead is my 91 year old mother. She has a glorious car that is so comfy, so smooth, so wondrous in its ability to deliver you from A to B without bumps, undue noise and free of the eternal nightmare of changing gear.
Now, my little Hyundai Getz is a 3 door manual stick shift and tends to bounce along the road.
Not so Redhead's car.
My Getz is a little plain and unnoticed wallflower. I park it on a sixpence, I can zip from one place to another and poor Redhead has to secure her bra straps when she hops in the passenger seat.
But I know my little car. I love my car. She is my chum who delivered me through the Toowoomba floods in 2011, delivered me to shops during lockdown and, touch wood, has never let me down.
On the other hand, Redhead's car delivered my late Dad to Doctor's appointments and has done so many trips to see me when I lived in Toowoomba; traversed the country to visit relatives and generally been a very noble servant.
So it was that, last week, my left knee gave out. I couldn't drive. I finally got mobile again and Redhead ( Mum ) offered her car to me.
We went for a drive. Lovely. No issues with hill starts. No pain in my knee.
Happy days.
I took her car home and parked my car in her garage.
That night, I felt somehow bereft. My faithful servant had been abandoned like a dog that had outlived its usefulness.
I felt so guilty.
Meanwhile, Redhead was feeling uneasy. She went to her garage and her car was not there. Her independence had been stripped from her.
You see, there is a moral to this story.
You don't know what you have got until it is gone.
Neither Mum nor I have been comfortable with this exchange since it happened.
She loves her car and I love mine. Hers is better for me at the moment but it is NOT MINE. It will always be hers.
We had a chat on the phone today.
Both sad yet grateful that we could help each other when the chips are down. How could I tell her I wanted my car back? How could she tell me that she wanted her car back?
And it suddenly dawned on us.
All we had done was help each other out in a time of need. It was not permanent.
So I will take her car back to her and retrieve mine and I will chauffeur Miss Redhead as is fitting. Win win.
If only our governments could see how easy it is to solve the immigration issue.
When you need a helping hand, lend it. But, when the crisis is over, it is over.
But I tell you what. These passengers who are coming into Australia and America, Canada and the UK have no intention of ever getting over their crook knee. In fact, they intend to become our drivers and we will sit, compliant in our passenger seats, along for the ride until they open the passenger door and throw us out.
They will take my car, your car, my home, your home and then declare that the problem is that our governments are not doing enough.
I am probably getting carried away with the metaphors but you get my drift.
My parting note is that, while I am happy to chauffeur Miss Redhead, I am not happy to do the same for migrants.
And, while she is happy to lend me her car, she wants it back.
The same can be said for my country. I want it back. In fact, the more I think about it, perhaps the so called refugees could have stayed at home and done something to get rid of their dodgy knee.
Because guess what?
As long as we keep giving them our " cars " their bad knees will just keep getting worse.
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