Today is Boxing Day. I hope you didn’t go shopping, for the
sake of your own soul. Watching the news was like bearing witness to the first
few hours of a global pandemic, or the coming of the apocalypse. Or the savage
sacrifice of a baby animal.
I was a little bit sick in my mouth when I saw hordes of
humans bursting through the front doors of Next (on TV, I didn’t go there), because
a) the things they received yesterday were not the right things or b) they were
the right things but they needed a shitload more of them.
At least the TV was good tonight. One of the highlights for me
was the bizarre reimagining of ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ hosted tonight, by Shane Ritchie. The
concept was both uplifting and exciting for TV viewers in the seventies,
eighties and nineties but tonight’s perverted doppelgänger culminated in a
macabre sing along where kids stood around a semi famous opera singer, not really
singing, while a six year old girl hung suspended in a harness above, dressed like
an angel, but looking more like a cumulus cloud motionless and ignored.
I’m not sure Shane fixed anything, but at least he gave a
six year old girl an attention deficit complex.
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