A good innings

Hello readers, I’m sorry I’ve been a bit on the quiet side but it’s been a difficult weekend for me. Obviously you’ll all be aware now that we’ve lost one of the greatest musical talents ever to have moon-walked the earth. Michael Jackson was an idol of mine, creator of my favourite song of all time; Billie Jean.

I picked the wrong weekend to give up drinking; I came so close to turning to the bottle for solace. I made it through just by staying in bed and listening to all the old LPs. I haven’t felt so low since Diana died.

Apparently Farah Fawcett kicked the bucket too. Farah became the Mother Teresa of 2009 by dying at the same time as MJ. Remember that Mother Teresa slipped away amid all the furore surrounding Diana? Such dignity, even in death.

The two demises – Teresa and Diana – couldn’t have been more different really, and nor could their two lives. Just imagine if Mother Teresa had died being chased by the paparazzi trying to get photographs of her with the playboy son of a crazy Egyptian millionaire! Lol!

Different in death, and in life. But still, these two women had so much in common in terms of their spirits. Diana cared an awful lot about children and so did Mother T. And now we’ve lost Michael Jackson. He also cared about children; a little too much if we’re to believe popular rumour. If there were an afterlife then the three of them would probably have a lot to discuss.

If indeed there were an afterlife, you’d hope they’d be restored to their prime. You’d want MJ back to the old, black version, before he started playing Mr Potato Head with himself and sanding his skin down. And you’d want Mother T. full of her youthful vigour again. And you’d want Diana before the crash, right? Definitely. Otherwise the other two would probably just stare. They wouldn’t be able to help it.

There are some people who say that Diana was a cynical media-manipulator who used her wiles and her contacts to spin positive stories about herself in her battle of spite with the rest of the royal family. There are some people who point out that Prince Harry has red hair like James Hewitt. There are some people who claim she was assassinated on the orders of Phil the Greek. And yet more who allege that she slept with Tony Hadley, from the 80s. Any of these things could be true, we just don’t know. What we do know, however, is that a world in which the future King would rather bump uglies with Camilla Parker Bowles – who looks like Mum Ra the Ever Living – than with Diana Queen Of Our Hearts is a very strange world indeed.

Needless to say my phone was bleeping all day long on Friday and Saturday with really unkind jokes about Jacko, dredging up those tedious accusations about his relationships with children. Why can’t we just remember him for all of his wonderful achievements and not for whatever silly mistakes he made along the way. We all make mistakes, don’t we.

Socrates was always at it, for Christ’s sake, and he’s universally revered as the father of European philosophy.

So RIP Michael and Farah.

But these things always go in threes, don’t they. So we’re going to have another wonderful talent taken from us before the week is out, you mark my words.

If I was a gambling chap I’d have a few quid on Bruce Forsyth. The man’s a dancing cadaver. A true professional, though, and a real gentleman by all accounts.

ND out