I sat down in Sainsbury's yesterday and picked up a copy of The Times. There was some weekend feature about, (sigh) someone I previously hadn't heard of, although I could guess from her surname that she might share something in common with the writer of Copenhagen. It was Rebecca Frayn. Believe it or not it was an irony free, me me me piece about her twins. Hm, not bad publicity for her new 'novel' and her twins, who I'm sure at some stage will use the coat tails of her and the writer of Copenhagen to get on. But she cares. Do you see? She cares about issues like kids and the environment!
As ever this isn't the main reason for my rage. What occurred to me was, at what level, at what level will this piece appeal to anyone? People with grown up twins? Mothers? Do parents give a shit about other kids? Do parents really give two fucks about how better off other people's kids are? Wouldn't The Times do well to actually print something for the weekend that has more depth? By god we have to care about the trivial plight of others because human beings have a need to talk shit as well as listen to it.
It's why I hate Catalin Moran. I've never read anything by her that spends more time on any given subject that the subject of Catalin Moran. I don't find her cute and inquisitive. She will always be that overweight student who wondered into a studio where they were filming that fucked up excuse for a music programme, 'Naked City'.
None of these people, these columists and me-ist's will ever be as interesting and entertaining as John Peel's digressions were. You just won't. Just promote what you need to promote, write what you're supposed to write about and shut the motherfuck up about you're tiny, cute, banal self-important hang ups. No-one gives a shit.
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