Funday Times

If you're feeling like you want that final straw to permanently disable your proverbial camel - in which case, by the by, perhaps you should ASK YOURSELF SOME QUESTIONS, you proverbial camel-tampering fuck - why not nip down to the shops and peruse the 'Style' section of the Sunday Times? Don't buy it, for the love of god. Just have a good read and then tell me the human race isn't doomed.

What happened was, I was at brekkie today desperate for something to read, as usual, and all there was was last week's Sunday Times 'Style' and 'Culture' sections. (No papers, owing to a long lie-in and the recent regaining of global etherweb privileges.)

In the latter, there was an article on Dave Gilmour, once guitarist with Ra Floyd, as they're known up the west coast of Scotland. He has a new album out. Dave was expressing a wish that you were here - HA! Sorry, he was also saying that he was 'contented', having rebuilt some bridges with Roger in front of everyone last year. (See 'Live 8, or...' - it's in 'previous'...)

The writer - if, indeed, this is the correct term for whatever PAUL SEXTON was doing with the words he got on tape in Dave's Sussex farmhouse - suggested that for Stadium Dave, 'modest is the new huge'. '"Right now, I just like to be smaller... I'd love the album to sell bucketloads, but I would like for it all to be a little less... important."' This, in the context of a two-page spread in the Sunday Times Culture section, is about as convincing as his red-eyed assertion in 'Liive at Pompeii' that 'We're not a drugs band anymore,' but let's move along. Later in the same section it is revealed that Dave sold his home in Little Venice to Earl Spencer in 2003 for £3.6 million (That's three point six MILLION pounds sterling) and gave all the money to charity. He has another four homes.

Clearly this is all actually real for some people, rather than the abstractions I bat away distractedly as I sit,slack-jawed, scrambled egg cooling on fork halted a matter of centimetres from my mouth. Walking home from Clapham Junction to Brixton last night entailed passing about five estate agents, and studio flats the size of Dave's guitar case were going for upwards of £190,000.

The Style section was merely horrifying. Horrifying is the new post-modern enjoying. If I were to start now on itemising its transgressions I might not be done til wednesday. ('But what has it "transgressed"?', you might ask, and I can only assert that I AM THE LAW, and the Style section of the Sunday Times makes me want to DEFECATE. ('No Judge, shit on it!'))

Now, where's the Funday Times? It's got Scooby Doo in it. Something I can believe in.