SPIRITUALISTS and astrologers, world’s apart I know, but I’m not particularly impressed with any of them.
The first, despite the fact that my family (on Mother Dearest’s side of course) boasted one or two in the past, I’ve always viewed as preying on gullible people at their weakest moments. I still dine out about he occasion when I saw one of the country’s leading ones publicly humiliate and embarrass an audience member by telling her she wasn’t the person he was seeking with a close family member who had recently hung himself. What are the chances of that happening then? I would think quite a lot if you’ve planted someone in the audience with a similarly sad story.
On the astronomy front I regularly get a laugh reading about what is likely to befall me – and usually can’t remember what it was before it doesn’t. If you see what I mean.
I was particularly taken by this one recently. “Your social life positively sparkles.” It has its fits and starts but I wouldn’t class it as “sparkling” - largely because there isn’t time to polish it. “You’ll get drawn into a fascinating conversation at a party.” A fairly predictable punt as this was the party season – but as with the sparkly bit there wasn’t really time to go to many. Try this: “It’s wonderful to meet someone who shares your interests and can recommend all sorts of great movies, music and books.” Sadly I rarely meet anyone, apart from The Manager who shares many of my interests – and even she baulks at my taste in musicals and romcoms, hates most of my favourite music and chooses to read books about people I would gladly line-up against a brick wall and shoot when the revolution comes.
Then came the piece de resistance: “This discussion will prompt you to launch a blog.” Well, it won’t. No discussion will prompt me to launch a blog. Even if I knew how to. This column is the nearest I am ever likely to get to a blog – and it’s a long way off one.
Why do people think that their blogs are all that interesting? In the days of letter writing you self edited when the paper, ink or wrist ran out. Now people go on forever. They even blog about their holidays. Whilst they are on them. Good heavens it was bad enough when they came home with hundreds of photographs to bore you with. Then they started uploading them onto computers and hundreds became thousands – “This is us sitting in exactly the same place doing exactly the same thing with the same people as yesterday.”
And if they don’t blog they’ll be tweeting on Twitter (or is it twittering on Tweet?). Whatever it is, imagine my horror this week when I discovered there’s a RobinDuke1 on Twitterytweet (whatever?). He, or perhaps she, has scored 1062 “Tweets,” 140 “following”, 23 “followers” and O “listed.” Even though I don’t know what any of that means I’m still pretty annoyed. It’s bad enough having some New York City-based American ambassador (female) sharing my name (imagine the confusion that causes Amazon when trying to identify my tastes in literature and music) as well as a Canadian-born comedienne who refuses to retire. Now I - and, indeed, we, have got some bozo tweeting such crass things as “I genuinely hope you’re having fun at the tickled pink concert,” “how do you put up with Joe? Lol go out with me, I’d treat ya like the princess you truly are” and “Woohoo new long term deal for Steven Gerrard! LFC Legend.”
Anyone who knows me will realise that none of these originate from this Robin Duke because (a) my mobile phone is more BC than AC (b) I could never treat anyone like a princess – even is she was one and (c) Steven Gerrard!! So how do I stop this plonker?