Jezza Clarkson Discovers The Downside Of Social Networking
Written by John of Gwent
It seems that this morning he who many wanted to see as Prime Minister (be honest, petrol and diesel tax would approach the levels in Guernsey if he was) is not best pleased with the twitter tw*tter of a certain social networking site. You can read the details here and I for one am most grateful to him for pointing out that it was the British who invented the concentration camp for dealing with those pesky Boers, I believe (?). Yes, jezza is, this morning, on fine form.
But what has lit his blue touch paper ?
Well, it appears that his four legged canine companion recently shuffled off its mortal coil and has gone to frolic in pastures not of this world. Or maybe not. And for some reason best known only to the clinically insane, Clarkson chose to use a certain chattering social media to announce this fact to the world.
And he chose a day when to be honest the best the BBC News page can come up with is the "revelation" that Ian brady might know where Keith Bennet's bones lie after all.
By Odin's Beard and Mohammed's eight year old wife what in the name of God - whatever you may consider it to be - was the man thinking ?
Now look, I'll have no truck with the bastards that took the piss out of the man in his moment of grief. Dig hard enough into my (hardcopy only, and locked in the office) photo album and you will find LOADS of photos of me aged about 18-20 at one end of a lead, the other end of which is round the neck of a bundle of fluff called Sam by everyone except the Kennel Club who knew him as White Prince of Pymeson. A kennel name I registered for him because the subatomic particle of the same name rushes round randomly for no good reason and if you ever saw him running round the lawn ...
A mischevious bugger of a west highland white terrier and "bundle of fluff" was his cover story. One word from me and the bugger did exactly what he pleased. It wasn't actually my dog, it was my brother's but when he buggered off for a few years I got the job of looking after said mutt. A job I passed to my parents when I in turn buggered off to get married.
But as the years passed, sure enough the day came - as we all knew it surely must - but no-one ever thinks it will until it does - when no "wuffing" sound came from inside the porch as I walked up the drive of my parent's house.
So I will tolerate no excuses for the buggers who mocked the man in his moment of grief. Indeed if he wants volunteers to help hunt them down ... it will be a pleasure to join the queue. Especially if we have a handy brace of "Hound Of The Baskervilles" Clones to aid in finding the swine.
But honestly, what was the man thinking? There are twisted backwaters of cyberspace out there beyond the grasp of common humanity where lurk a whole bunch of misfits who think taking down a cancer charity website "for the lulz of it" is something to be appaluded. What the hell did Clarkson expect? A thousand tearful squeaks from fellow subscribers to Dog's Trust ?