I DON’T KNOW WHY… August 28, 2012Posted by markswill in Media, Navel Gazing, Politics, Schmolitics.
…I seem to have no time to scribble random tirades and regularly propel them into the ether anymore, but then I don’t know how others have time to read them along with all the other digital effluvia, either. I can barely flick through my Daily Star these days so busy am I dealing with emails, texts, voicemails, cleaning the bath, cooking delicious meals for my legion of close, personal friends who constantly pop in for a little home-spun wisdom, marriage guidance, a cup of sugar or the inside poop on the 4.10 at Chepstow. Life, eh? It’s enough to make you want to marry a Tetra-Pak heiress.
And I don’t know why the government haven’t sacked the entire boards of all the banks we taxpayers bailed out. After all, as Bob Diamond and his crew have proven, they’re all as corrupt and venal as sin, and Cameron and Co. certainly wouldn’t hesitate for a nanosecond in sacking the head of a healthcare trust or board of school governors if the media got on their case, but maybe it’s because at heart they’re all bankers themselves, or at least millionaires, and you just don’t shit on your own doorstep?
I certainly don’t know why the pseudonymous novelist Kate Alcott got away with bemoaning in The Times how it was nigh impossible to get by on £41,000 a year in these straitened times (is that how you spell it, Blez?). Poor darling practically had a nervous breakdown when her middle-class mum chums shunned her at the school gate because she couldn’t afford little Felicity’s ballet classes anymore. Such hideous deprivation reminded me of another overheard party conversation – secondhand, obviously – as some expensively coiffed matron explained that her idea of belt-tightening was “getting the children to muck-out their own polo ponies.”
Mind you, I don’t know why even allegedly left-wing rags like the Guardian, which has now become almost unreadable as well as unaffordable, persists with endless fashion spreads featuring £600 handbags, shoes at £700 a pair and darling little £150 tank tops. Do, indeed can Guardian readers really buy this stuff, or is it merely self-indulgence on the part of the Jennifers and Melindas who for some reason are paid to puff it? Now I’m as vain as the next ex-Guardian reader, vainer probably, but I’m reduced to Uniqlo and charity shops as my personal outfitters. Still, along with whole tiers of sub-editors who on the evidence of the rising tide of typos and tortured syntax are losing their jobs at all the so-called quality ‘papers, they’ll soon be for the chop as well, because Versace and Stella McCartney clearly aren’t gonna be advertising in the Guardian anytime soon. But that doesn’t matter because its über-arrogant editor A. Rusbridger is keen to abandon his paper readers a.s.a.p. so’s he can concentrate on his digital fantasies which lose squillions a year and probably always will.
Indeed I don’t know why anyone reads newspapers anymore, at least if I’m to believe the seers who can afford to spend so much of their expensive time on LinkedIn and MediaWatch telling us that print is dead and that we should all be concentrating on smartphone apps. Which kinda of makes me wonder why the rest of the forum posters, many of whom also seem to be called Jennifer and Melinda in fact, are constantly asking “How do I find an editor for my organic hair products B2B magazine” or advice on setting up an iPad app for owl watchers… and I’m only half-kidding? I could in fact spend hours a day putting such anoraks and dreamers in their place, er, but of course I don’t have the time and on the rare occasions I do I am met with such tsunamis of ill-informed bile that it really isn’t worth it. Such as when I innocently responded to an unasked-for invitation to subscribe to an online-only motorcycle magazine with vaguely sceptical comments about website readability. That certainly larned me.
And I don’t know why summer’s finally here but the time isn’t right for dancing in the streets, festivals are being cancelled (but not our Sheep Music, ho-ho-ho – see last blog) and I’ve been through three brollies in as many weeks… although I suspect global warming.
I don’t know why my car tax and insurance have gone up, petrol’s gone down when we’re supposed to’ve used up most of the world’s oil reserves and no-one on the Today programme ever asks the hard questions about windfarms (because they don’t work), or why politicians keep bottling it on nuclear power… and most everything else that’s important, for that matter?
And for similar reasons I can’t understand how – and I’m cribbing from an excellent piece by John Naughton in a recent Observer and similar observations in the New Yorker and Prospect – Amazon, Facebook and Google, Yahooo and Microsoft are insidiously controlling what we say, think and buy with little or no accountability whilst paying virtually no tax which in order to offset the recession caused by their bankers we dutiful little people (© Leona Helmsley) have to make up for by… paying more car tax.
I don’t know why… and maybe that’s just as well because if I did, I might just take up crystal meth or Scientology. Still, at least that’s something to look forward to in this endless winter of our discontent.
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