Saturday, October 04, 2008

Why can't people do the right thing? Why the news can make you a bit upset...

The wrinkles in Gordon Ramsey's forehead though! Like a ploughed field. You could get seeds and plant them. Grow cress on his angry head. It would look nice. And it would be an ecologically sound use of all his angry energy. He could wire up his adrenal glands and run a few lightbulbs. O, anything to distract myself. 9 whole days ago I went for an interview. 9 whole days later they still haven't told me if they like me or not. It's like conducting a love affair in the 19th century. How long does it take for them to tell me? O, hidee hoo. In a week when some young lad was considering jumping off the roof of a building and people were goading him to jump.

"Friends said he had become depressed after a recent relationship break-up. Witnesses said as police tried to talk him to safety, he kept looking down at those below who were taunting him.

"Paul Kennedy, 36, a security guard who helped with crowd control during the incident, added: There were horrible scenes that afternoon, with the crowd shouting some awful things at the poor young lad." [from The Telegraph]

It's not the first time this has happened of course. Chatham 2007. The mob has previous. And you can - can you? - almost understand it. It sort of seems like a joke. Sort of unreal. Someone standing up above on a high building. High enough and far enough away to seem like an actor. It could be a sort of a spectator sport. Like rubbernecking at an traffic accident and seeing some blood. Ooooh. The spectre of death that haunts and fascinates us all. Something that doesn't actually affect us, but appeals and appalls us on a deeper genetic level.

Until the jumper jumps. And then it can't be a joke, can it? Have we seen too many films, too many public information adverts about thinking your a superhero when you're drunk? [I'm not linking to that in the circumstances]

Well, that's reet cheered me up that has. "There's always someone worse off than you," as my mum used to tell me when I complained about having to eat fried egg or not having any friends or having rubbish old clothes or whatever little piddly thing it was that irked me. "There's kids in Africa would love to have that rice pudding. They wouldn't turn their noses up at good food!"

Which is fine. Well, it's not fine, but it's true. If you're alive still, there's always someone in casualty wired up to a defibrulater who would love have such minor superficial worries as us. Cease the day - or whatever the cheery saying is...

Right. Where was I? Looking on the brighter side. Angry TV celebrities and the way that their craggy heads could be used to harvest food:

  1. Gordon Ramsey's remarkable chin cleft: an ideal spot for growing some mini-potatoes. For kiddie's meals.
  2. Gillian McKeith's drawn, permanently disgusted face - with its permanent frown of fatty-prole-fear - could be improved by allowing small and edible woodlice to crawl across her forehead. They could make nests in her ears and come out to feast on all that nice food she likes to throw away.
  3. Jeremy Clarkson - is there a man better suited to growing grass on his cranium? Jeremy, cover up your bald spot with miracle-gro rye grass. Persuade tiny sheep to graze on his confused skull.

  4. Alan Sugar, I suggest a Zen monk does some tidying up on your face, then plants bonsai trees at various, feng shui approved places on your chin and nose. It would look nice. I think.
ssssssss Well. This news just in.

After a crash in Firefox and the loss of literally 10s of words. I re-opened my browser windows to find I had got a reply email back from my interview peoples' secretary. They were going to send me a letter. It is due to arrive soon. Now why is that people tell you they'll phone then don't? Tell you they'll let you know, ask for your mobile number, then snidely send you a letter by post days later. Bad karma for them I hope. A pox on the lot of em. And an end to my self-pity also... Slap, slap, slap. A cold shower, that's what I need. That'll help grow grass on my chest...

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