It rocks you at the core. I was discussing it earlier tonight when Princess Margate visited. She was sitting under the stars discussing her deep shock and disillusionment at the recent revelation that Jimmy Saville - former TV presenter, revered charity fundraiser and trusted name in British households everywhere - turned out to have molested as many as 30, 13-16 year old girls.
I know what she means. Unlike scumbag politicians and shady business people, whom we expect to violate our expectations of propriety, we still somehow hope for better where the best of our British entertainers is concerned.
What is it that still motivates us to see the best and hope for it in public life, only to feel somehow our hopes, trust and beliefs have been somehow violated?
Is public life a microcosm of all life in that it breeds by its very existence its fair share of itinerant scumbags?
As Princess Margate exclaimed earlier "this was a big ting for me, innit. Dese men need to watch where dey do dis big-head ting."
Today it was announced that Mr Saville's tombstone has been removed at the request of his family. I'll write about about this gesture later in a piece I'm currently developing which will present my investigative insights into the motives and practices of grave-robbers
Stay tuned...
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2 comments:
Maybe it's a Canadian thing, but I have never been shocked by the depravity of society.That of the famous or us normal folk. Sometimes the amount is overwhelming, but putting someone in front of a camera doesn't make them a saint, it only makes them a good actor and that's what is needed to be a good predator.
Look at the catholic church, priests and that scandal. If that doesn't knock the rose coloured glasses off your face I don't know what would.
I was married in an Anglican church. A couple years later the minister who married us was convicted of being a pedophile. Nicest man you'd ever meet. Except for the whole disgusting child molesting thing.
No station in life, no job, no amount of money, no calling, can truly change a person at their core. It might give them the power to cover it up, or the skills to do it better, but a sicko perv is still a sicko perv no matter how you dress him/her up.
So, I was on my way home last night in a bout of serious fear (that has an odd screenplay feeling about it) when I bumped into my old mate Rolf Farris...
"Rolf" I beamed, "How the hell are you?"
This was a bad time to find one of my hero's was in a worse state than me as he mumbled something something about painting, outback and desperate case of the munchies, it had been so long since we last spoke...
"Jesus man" I piped, "I don't think we've seen each other since you were doing the rounds with two little boys in the seventies..."
"That wasn't me you fucker," he replied, "That was Jimmy Savile...."
Barticus
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