Up. Michael Jackson
It was definitely the story of the week. It will probably be the story of the
year. And, who knows, maybe it will even be the story of this decade, if
CW’s campaign for “Jodie Marsh Getting A Tattoo On Her Shoulder Of Some
Broccoli — Because She Likes Broccoli” as Story of the Decade fails to pick
up any more support. But since Michael Jackson died there can be no doubt
that there are thousands of people who need to be given a meeting-place — a
pilgrimage-point — to discuss their feelings about his passing.
In the wake of the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, that place was outside
Kensington Palace. People gathered to lay flowers, sing and take advantage
of a unique moment in time to open up to complete, but sympathetic,
strangers.
And in its own way, CW would like to make this column a Kensington Palace to a
sector of like-minded souls, too. People who, since they heard that Michael
Jackson was no more, have wanted to reach out to others who feel the same.
CW thinks you know who you are. You are the people who — from the first
moment they heard, up until this second and, quite possibly, onwards, into
the rest of their lives — just went, “Meh” “Meh” about everything. “Meh” to
it all. Michael Jackson is dead! Meh. Was it the doctor who killed him? Meh.
The doctor didn’t kill him! Meh. He’s going to displayed in a glass coffin
at Neverland, after being taken there in a white carriage! Meh.
CW isn’t affecting a posture of knowing cynicism, you understand. This is not
an adolescent, “seen it all before, man, meh” — because, clearly, we have
never seen anything like a dead celebrity being displayed in a glass coffin
before. Except in Snow White. Kind of.
No — CW isn’t being studiedly casual at all. It fully
acknowledges that a man — a human being, just like the rest of us, with
family, and friends, and children — has died. It is news that, quite
rightly, travelled the world in minutes, mainly because the brilliant music
of Michael Jackson will be played on this Earth for as long as there are
humans around who register a simple joy in dancing.
It’s just that CW feels this comforting . . . listlessness about
the whole thing. Almost as if it realised that the death of an ailing,
unhappy-looking pop star it had never met and who lived thousands of miles
away has nothing to do with CW whatsoever. CW feels that there are possibly
thousands — if not millions — of people who felt like it did on hearing the
news: “Oh. Well, that kind of makes sense. Yes, dying is the kind of thing
he would be doing around about now. It’s perhaps a little earlier
than I would have placed a bet on, but it’s certainly not as unexpected as
him, say, suddenly marrying Elvis Presley’s daughter.”
For the first time in modern culture, a gigantic news event has occurred which
has been met by an absolutely effortless sense of perspective. It is as
though we have all gathered together in a big circle, held hands and
shrugged — for Michael.
Down. Rachel Hunter
The former wife of Rod Stewart has had a trying week. Her husband-to-be, an
ice hockey player called Jarret Stoll, has jilted her — seven weeks before
their wedding. And as Hello! magazine made clear, he chose a particularly
unpleasant way of doing it: e-mailing all the guests, including Michelle
Pfeiffer and Sharon Stone, telling them that the wedding was off — but not
telling Hunter herself. CW presumes that Hunter found out when Sharon Stone
bit the bullet, rang her up, and said: “Darling, I’ve got good news and bad
news. You know the double-duvet on the wedding list? The good news is I’ve
rung John Lewis, and they can exchange it for a single, a DVD of He’s Just
Not That Into You and a doughnut maker. The bad news . . .”
Down. Grand Duke Henri of Luxenbourg
As CW has mentioned before, it is obsessed with obscure European royals.
Obsessed. It loves the idea of a life where, when push comes to shove, and
someone asks you to explain the fundamental point of your existence, you
have to explain exactly how distantly related you are to Prince Edward. This
week’s Best Obscure Royal is: Grand Duke Henri of Luxembourg. This week he
finally “decided” to give Tessy, the wife of his son, Prince Louis, the
title of Princess — three whole years after they married. And what a
relaxing three years of family Christmases, birthdays and get-togethers —
with absolutely no sullen resentment and pan-banging — they must have been.
Subsequently, their two young sons, Gabriel and Noah, “will also now be
styled as ‘Prince’.” What — in 4in stack-heeled glitter-shoes, a
penis-shaped guitar and a skintight purple bodysuit slashed down to there?
Surely that’s not suitable attire for a child?
Up. Shirley Bassey
Hot news from the coalface of pop — Dame Shirley Bassey is due to make a
comeback later this year, having just signed a £500,000 contract to record a
new album. £500,000? For one album? She can now literally buy a gold finger.
And, indeed, a Moon-raker — which CW presumes would be fairly costly, when
you take into account crafting such an item to work in low fields of
gravity, training astronauts in Moon-raking technology, flying the Moon-rake
to the Moon, etc.
Up. Sophie Reade’s mum
It is one of the unanswered problems of modern etiquette: just how does
one genteelly refer to one’s daughter’s full-frontal photo sessions in Playboy?
Thankfully, Helen Reade — mother of the Big Brother contestant
Sophie Reade, who is, yes, a former Playboy model — has found the
perfect way to describe exactly what these shots consisted of. Rest assured,
readers, these words are perfectly fine to use in front of vicars, nuns and
grandmas, up and down the country: “She showed the envelope, but not the
letters . . . she kept her legs closed,” Mrs Reade explains.
Down. David Cameron
Last week, David Cameron was a good guy — the first Tory party leader booked
to appear at Gay Pride. This week, David Cameron is the bad guy — the first
Tory party leader to pull out of a booked appearance at Gay Pride. “He needs
to attend an event in his Oxfordshire constituency,” a spokesman said.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah, right. Although CW is sure there is some sudden,
urgent cake-bake in Abingdon that frantically googling aides managed to
locate, we doubt that’s the real story. We think what really happened is
that Dave got scared of the hats. They always make you wear a pink hat at
Gay Pride, you see. Last year, they got Boris Johnson in a pink Stetson. And
while Johnson — because essentially he is not a real person in any sense —
could just about get away with a pink Stetson, Cameron in a rose-tinted fez
would make half the Home Counties rise from the breakfast table, and shoot
the undermaid in uncontrollable apoplexy.
Down. Sir Cliff Richard
The man that millions still refer to as “Cliff Richards” has RUN FOUL OF THE
LAW. Yeah, that’s right — Cliff’s in trouble with the beak. Following in the
footsteps of James Brown (assault), Peter Doherty (burglary) and Phil
Spector (murder), Cliff has been hauled to court for FAILING TO GET PLANNING
PERMISSION FOR A 17ft x 13ft CONSERVATORY. He is clearly now taking orders
from SATAN. How’s he going to claw back? He’ll have to donate a kidney to a
dolphin or something.
Down. Feuding authors
Oh, America. How very, very different it is. Last week, the author Alice
Hoffman (no, us neither) went bongo-mondo over bad reviews of her novel, and
posted a critic’s phone number on Twitter. She then issued 2009’s best
passive-aggressive non-apology so far:
“I have a knee-jerk reaction re: language; plus, I ate too much Honesty Cake.”
Wow. CW loves it when an American goes cutesy about homicidal rage. It looks
forward to Hoffman putting on the Poke-Bonnet of Angryness and galloping off
on the Punching You In The Face Dappled Pony.
Down. Bubbles
Bubbles — the former chimp pet of Michael Jackson — has been banned from his
late master’s funeral, as he is “too violent”. Surely the reason is that he
is also too “a monkey with absolutely no concept of what a funeral might
be”? Or is CW over- diligently picking those logic-nits from the hairy head
of life again?
Down. Katie Price
Katie Price, aka Jordan, has been stepping out and showing whose side she’s on
in her forthcoming divorce from Peter Andre: her own! The positive aspects
of her new "Team Katie" T-shirt: it has got her pictures in the tabloids. It
visually formalises the marriage break-up into two, distinct camps. The
negative aspects of this T-shirt: the demand for the item appears to run,
worldwide, to just the one. And it's a bit tight across the bust.
