
My mate was sat in a café in Hanoi the other day, reading a book, slurping coffee in that annoying way that only a man on holiday can manage and periodically surveying the scene. He’s an artist (the oil on canvass kind, as opposed to the fashioning vomit into semi-recognisable body parts and labelling it something like ‘Freud’s First Dream’ kind), a teacher and a thoroughly decent human being.
Anyway, there he is, clad in a Napalm Death t-shirt and shorts, when an, at first tentative but increasingly confident address arrowed its way into his lug-hole.
‘Excuse me, that’s not very nice, is it?’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Round here, ya know? They died and that.’
‘Sorry, can you explain to me what you’re talking about?’
‘Your t-shirt. Napalm Death. That’s what the Americans used to kill the Vietnamese with.’
‘Yes, I know they used napalm. This is a metal band from England though.’
‘But it’s, er, insence, no, I mean, it’s incessan…it’s rude!
You should cover it up.’
‘Are you suggesting that I advocate the use of napalm, or condone the actions of the Americans during the conflict?’
‘I just think that they don’t deserve to be reminded, that’s all.’
‘Actually, they’re quite proud of the fact that they won and have built museums gloating over their victory. Most of them aren’t able to read it, but even if they did, I’m sure that they wouldn’t take it personally, or worse, beat me up. Well done for being so concerned though.’
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