Skip to main content

Coastalblog - almost always a couple of yards off the pace

We all have our personal tipping points. Some crack one day when stood in an otherwise blameless baskets-only queue; the person in front takes too long trying to remember their PIN and bingo, a previously sunny worldview becomes irrevocably bitter. Others may have lived a hitherto positive existence, always looking for the best in people, only to be rendered permanently homicidal by gormless service in a plastic coffee outlet. For vast numbers of my fellow countrymen, the urge to act was engendered by the tedious e-petition about road pricing (probably deserving a post of its own: goverment complicit in human rights abuses? Not my problem squire. Government taking country into illegal war? probably had it coming, didn't they? Goverment creating artificial climate of fear? Well, can't trust anyone these days. Goverment tinkering with something to do with your fucking car? Take to the streets! And pave some new ones whilst we're at it! More cars! Mmmm Cars! etc)

For myself the point of meltdown has been brought a little closer this weekend by two things. The Guardian's weekend magazine having Coleen McLoughlin on the front cover for no readily apparent reason was one, apparently she likes clothes. Good for her. I am confident that there was NOTHING which could have made a more deserving cover story than what the wife of a footballer likes to wear (but no! she's really down to earth! who'd have thought? and paradigmatic of our age! I must state that I personally have no problem with Ms McLoughlin, I am in fact inclined to quite like her, she does seem to be a sensible girl in an utterly batshit insane environment. What I take issue with is a serious newspaper fronting its magazine with a small story culled from its fashion pages because the woman in question happens to be the putative Mrs Rooney. I could go furter and take issue with the deadly seriousness with which the entire fucking ridiculous industry of fashion is treated, but I fear amay run my bile reserves dry should I do so).

Secondly, the blanket media coverage of Mrs B Federline shaving her head off. Maybe it's an homage to Alien 3, maybe she was drunk and thought it would be cool. Quite possibly the poor woman is in the very public grip of a mental breakdown. All these things are possible. The only thing that is certain is that it's NOT NEWS. Get this clear. Famine is news. The ongoing atrocities in the Sudan with are threatening to drag Chad into a central african war are news. Putin getting bullish cos he's knocking on a bit (he really is a prime example of a man having a mid-life crisis, so I get a sports car? A tattoo? No, wait a second, I'm in charge of a major world power! I can compensate for the decreasing quality of my erections by throwing a hissy fit over gas pipelines!) is news. Poor old Britney going nuts is not news. It is desperately sad. I don't really object to tabloids splashing in stories like these, that's what they do. I deplore it, but it's probably best to follow the wise example of a Canute. It's more insidious, and more plain WRONG when broadsheets try to gussy it up with "think-pieces" (die) about the nature of celebrity, life lived in the public glare etc, as an excuse to run the story. You could smell the frustration about not being able to show the unexpurgated crotch shots from here. In an entirely unrelated complaint, the BBC's culture show has been advised to become "more mainstream".

Please, the Guardian. Please, the BBC. Please all those editors out there who are wrestling with their consciences over these issues. Knock it off. All I want is to get through my newspaper without being forced to confront the insatiable beast of celebrity, without feeling that by consuming the media I am helping to fund the whole tawdry circus. Just once. Please.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To all intents and purposes, a bloody great weed.

I absolutely love trees, and I get quite irate when they get cut down. One of the aspects of life with which I most often find myself most at odds with my fellow man is that I'm not really a fan of the tidy garden. I like to see a bit of biodiversity knocking about the gaff, and to that end I welcome the somewhat overgrown hedge, am pro the bit of lawn left to run riot, and, most of all, very anti cutting down trees. I love the things, habitat, provider of shade, easy on the eye, home to the songbirds that delight the ear at dawn, the best alarm clock of all. To me, cutting a naturally growing tree down is an act of errant vandalism, as well as monumental entitlement, it's been around longer than you. So, this being the case, let me say this. The public outcry over the felling of the tree at Sycamore Gap is sentimental, overblown nonsense, and the fact that the two men found guilty of it have been given a custodial sentence is completely insane. Prison? For cutting down a Sycam...
Post a Comment
Read more

Oh! Are you on the jabs?

I have never been a slender man. No one has ever looked at me and thought "oh, he needs feeding up". It's a good job for me that I was already in a relationship by the early noughties as I was never going to carry off the wasted rock star in skinny jeans look. No one has ever mistaken me for Noel Fielding. This is not to say that I'm entirely a corpulent mess. I have, at various times in my life, been in pretty good shape, but it takes a lot of hard work, and a lot of vigilance, particularly in my line of work, where temptation is never far away. Also, I reason, I have only one life to live, so have the cheese, ffs. I have often wondered what it would be like to be effortlessly in good nick, to not have to stop and think how much I really want that pie (quite a lot, obviously, pie is great), but I've long since come to terms with the fact that my default form is "lived-in". I do try to keep things under control, but I also put weight on at the mere menti...
Post a Comment
Read more

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...
Post a Comment
Read more