Christmas is over and very pleasant it was. Now in theory the world ought to be settling back to some sort of normality, but somehow I don’t think it is.
A brief supermarket visit yesterday left me speechless and upset at the sight of thousands of people almost fighting to fill up their trollies with piles upon piles of presumably cut-price goodies. Every till heaved with overloaded shoppers and as my basket contained but four small items, I made for the Express till.
Huh! That particular till was unmanned, so I ceremoniously placed my basket upon its shiny surface and walked out of the ruddy place.I know the Boxing Day Sales as they call them are said to be chaotic, but this was a supermarket for Pete’s sake!
And in the world of so called celebrities, the general inanity doesn’t diminish.
Take the South African actress Charlize Theron. This overpaid woman wails that when she was a mere nineteen years old in 1994 – that makes her around forty four, twenty five years later – she was sexually harassed.
Poor darling, wasn’t everyone who is anyone but what actually happened?
Well it seems that ‘a famous director’ actually touched her leg.
Then what happened, you might wonder?
Well, she got up and left and that was it.
For Pete’s sake, that was a quarter of a century ago and this prancing nincompoop would have us believe she has been traumatised ever since.
Less than twenty years before this utterly devastating and life damaging incident, many of us were watching friends and colleagues dying violently while at the same time being subject to ambushes, land mines, rocket attacks and other fiendish ways of being killed. We were delivering death messages to bereaved families and sharing their grief. Yet for all the attendant horror, most of us seemed to have managed to get over it.
And all that was happening very close to Ms Theron’s homeland.
Of course, by some amazing coincidence, this so terribly distressed woman just happens to have a film to promote and it seems any damn-fool story of persecution will suffice in that completely phoney world of Celebrity La-La-Land.
Mind you, I certainly won’t be going to see her film, whatever it is called. It is far too much of a risk.
In the half-darkness, an usherette might brush against me and put me in a therapy clinic for years.
One has to be so very careful not to be traumatised nowadays.
Bloody silly people! Sometimes I despair of my own species.