Isn’t it funny how memories come flooding back? All it takes sometimes is a similar set of circumstances. The technical term is object sensitivity but it might just as well be a good old fashioned memory jogging. Lovely things happened to two of my friends today, one got to meet their lifelong idol and one was on an amazing trip. As is the way of the world now, they both shared their good fortune on Facebook as is all good and proper with lovely things happening to lovely people, their comment threads were full of lovely comments, including mine. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else and if I felt á mind to leave something cruel, I wouldn’t, why would I be that unkind? It dragged me back to a fateful incident a couple of years ago where I was getting lovely, supportive, comments about something, that was until someone had to go and spoil it by adding a load of spiteful old shit to my comment thread. At the time I just blocked them, only to learn that they were bragging about the incident to their grotesque gang of sycophantic cronies and that in turn set off an entire episode that caused endless amounts of aggravation elsewhere in my life as loyalties were put into question and ultimately proved to be as fragile and unpleasant as cheap toilet paper. I turned the situation around though and made art from it and got that art in a major art show with a footfall of 40,000 but one of my greatest regrets is that I accepted an apology from this person. I was trying to get in someone’s good books and did a few things that were contrary to my better judgement, just to keep the peace, knowing what I have learnt since I should have given them both barrels, metaphorically speaking of course.
It turns out that this person and their partner were linked to events that were sordid on a Dickensian level, the kind of thing that would destroy me for life and probably lead me to keep a low profile til the day I died were I involved in it. Strangely enough, these parodies of humanity do quite the opposite, seeking attention at every means, in the most purile and tacky ways. Completely devoid of any skills or talent whatsoever they insist on pushing themselves forward by any means possible to the point of disbelief, a living monument to the power of the massive ego, even bigger mouths and a grandiose sense of self belief that is inversely proportionate to their abilities. Despite the sordid shit that clings to them, they have managed to surround themselves with friends, granted, most of those are of an equally grotesque nature and they seem to survive by looking inward to each other for approval as it must shaw up their deluded beliefs rather than the bemusement or silent derision from the world outside their fold.
I suppose their saving grace is a thin veneer of fake homespun charm and an ability to seem as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, despite the obscenity and vulgarity filled world they belong to. I can’t help being drawn back to a joke by the late great Bob Monkhouse, “The secret of success in show business is sincerity… … Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”