Ahh… the madness of a messy break-up. Always the who did what to whom, when and where and… why oh why? Always more Colonel Mustard in the Pantry with his candlestick than Miss Scarlet in the Kitchen with her Rubber Gloves (off). And, it’s worse still when there are children involved. And even worse at Christmas. Put them all together and what do you get?
This… As inevitably as star-lit night follows bright-chilly Winter’s day, this week has begun on a truly cheery note – because the Daily Mail (who else) have thought it important enough to lead the charge of the light reading brigade with regard to Madonna’s Christmas arrangements. This is crucial, I can barely contain my excitement.
And so what do we discover..? She and blokey-bloke have agreed a truce. Oh… how charming of them. How very grown-up. What a vitally important piece of news.
Indeed… how awfully clever of the lady herself too. Because… as memory serves, isn’t she also meant to be a devout follower of Kabbalah, that (apparently) mystical off-shoot of Judaism which… errrm… doesn't actually celebrate Christmas? So… how’s she managed that one, eh?
Well, I’d imagine that she’s probably been given special dispensation by one of the Kabbalah elders by offering a lunch-box sized back-hander. Or… just maybe… in fact, maybe more probably… because she’s who she imagines herself to be, she’s simply utilised her self-justification mode and thought, bollox to the old religion bit for a few days, I’ll catch up with my own version of the real world a bit later. It’s that whole, I’ll do what the hell I feel like doing ethic – and sod anyone else.
Anyway, from what a ‘friend’ (its always a ‘friend' when it comes to being in the Mail and always a ‘pal’ if it’s the Sun or Mirror reporting) has revealed, they’ll all become happy campers around the log fire in Wiltshire for a few festive days. Wow… I’m so… impressed. A real log fire… better watch out children, Santa Claus is coming to your estate (sic) and… hey look, here comes the armed bullies to ensure you don’t get sparked. Catch a falling star..? I reckon so.
But… can’t we all just imagine the scene... the three children unwrapping their gilt-edged presents under their nice big tree… I mean what do you get for children who’ve probably got everything and more than they’ll ever need? And, from what we learn we discover that they’ll be having a lovely big Turkey and all the trimmings. Gosh – isn’t this so… exciting. And there will be Ma and Pa, setled comfortably either side of the lovely log fire, him with his pipe and slippers, studying the Radio Times… hey, listen(-up) children, guess what’s on the Radio later… it’s A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens… the bottle-blonde opposite, fiddling with her A-Rod-gifted pearl necklace mutters Bah Humbug and off they go… again.
Isn’t this such an important a piece of news that we’re all absolutely wetting ourselves to learn more.
Actually no… I don’t really think so.
Shouldn’t we be paying just a teeny bit more attention to this: the fact that many of the world’s leading banks are gearing up to show losses calculated in the billions… yes billions… because of a fraudulent Wall Street investment manager. The bloke concerned has, apparently, already been arrested (I should bloody well hope so), he’s called Bernard Madoff and he’s 70 years old and… from what I’ve read, a former chairman (or chairperson as they now have to be termed) of the New York stock Exchange. Shouldn’t he know better than to do something like this? Maybe – like the bottle-blonde, he’s not of the real world?
This is terrifying. As scary as the fact that the Daily Mail even thought it should give column inches over to the ex-mrs Guy Ritchie's festive arrangements.
Which leads me to wonder who on earth mister reverse polaroid himself, Alistair Darling is trying to kid when, during last month’s pre-budget report predictions he… predicted.. that the economy would start growing again during the second half of 2009.
It won’t. It hasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell.
Who are these people who simply play games with us, mere mortals?
At least one had the courage of his convictions to publically humiliate George double U-bend over the weekend. I gather that the culprit (not in my book, pal) Muntadhar al-Zeidi has been banged up in Baghdad and is now being questioned (the report I read mentioned the word interrogation – so we can guess what kind of questions he’d be being asked… and in what manner).
The authorities also want to know if anyone paid him. By my reckoning there would be a long, long queue of people begging to pay him for the absolute privilege… and can I be the very first in the line… please mister nice mister p’liceman?
The display of one’s shoe sole is a major sign of disrespect in the Arab world and… shoe-throwing is deemed far worse.
Why did no one think to do this before?
Oh well… another day closer to the Turkey-trot and also another day of anxiety about Project X but, my apprehension today is not because of any red or orange traffic lights.
Tomorrow’s anticipated meeting has been confirmed and yes, I’m all ready to roll so… hey, what are you doing getting all stressed out and nervous?
Because, the dratted Norovirus is not just in town but doing the rounds and good old Norovirus is – apparently – highly contagious. Bollox times three because that’s the medical term for one of my worst fears or phobias – and I’ve a few of them. Along with an irrational fear of microwaves and a more logical terror of extremely high heights and dentists you can add this one to the list.
Norovirus is a… vomiting bug… and, as anyone who knows me would know, I’d far happier do The Strand stark naked than throw-up.
Tomorrow I’ll be heading off early to my appointment on The Strand and there better not be anyone on my train with it.