Love in the time of the Cole era*

Mindless celebrity tittle-tattle is ultimately propelling our culture towards oblivion. The Roman Empire was destroyed from within by a prevailing decadence and complacency that ate through society like a cancer. A similar fate awaits us unless we can shake our addiction to the cult of “celebrity”. The “news” that sub-standard pop tartlet Cheryl Cole and her idiot footballer husband Ashley are to end their marriage took up an awful lot of media space this week: television, the tabloids, even the so-called quality press devoted huge amounts of coverage to this non-event through reportage, comment and speculation. Tiresome beyond belief. (Also witness the farrago of opinion about meat head John Terry and the woman he has been putting his genitals into. Does it make him fit to be England captain? Blah blah blah.)

It’s really very simple to summarise. Cheryl is a convicted thug who has contributed nothing at all of any worth or value to the world. From Girls Aloud to the X Factor to her risible solo career, she is responsible merely for her complicity in lowering standards in music. Ashley, meanwhile, is thicker than a mattress lasagne and as charming as an ulcer. Were it not for his ability to play football, he would be a sales assistant at Phones4U in Walthamstow. There is nothing to talk about here. Now let’s move on.

* with apologies to Gabriel Garcia Marquez


Centrist. Atlanticist. Dry liberal. Anti-totalitarian. Post-ideological pragmatist. Child of The Enlightenment. Toucan.

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Citizen Sane
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