Phew, fragile, there’s a good word. Fragile was 3 days ago when everyone was sweating like Vanessa Feltz in a doughnut emporium, utterly unused to such hot weather at this time of year. Only a people as emotionally fragile as we can wish away a hot day because it’s ‘just not natural’. Come to think of it fragile is Vanessa Feltz’s entire psychological existence, poor girl. Radio 2 every morning; listen and you’ll see. What will happen when she realises the planet doesn’t orbit around her (for the sake of physics it should be noted that this is entirely plausible)? And fragile was this morning when a huge swathe of this most delicate, porcelain, uncertain where it’s going, if anywhere, nation was swamped by water falling from the sky. Which apparently is a novelty.
Fragile is the career of Keithy Keith McVaz, a creature so slippery I’m amazed those two male prostitues managed to get a proper grip on him. But never mind because little Vazzy is doing the right thing and thinking about the best interests of the nation by stepping away from his beloved Select Committee. Whether he has considered the best interests of his wife and children has not been discussed much yet, though this is understandable when you have a coked-up rent boy filling you in. In a very non Select Committee sense.
Fragile is many things. The state of the economy, the state of Hillary Clinton, the state of Keith Vaz’s underpants. Fragile is the chance of ‘The Bake Off’ working next year, though at least it won’t be presented by two people who think they’re several times funnier than everyone else does. Fragile is the quivering thread of silk holding the whole planet together and every day something else comes along and gives that thread a little flick just to see if it will hold a bit longer. The Russians, The North Koreans, Donald Trump, Mary Berry and so on and so on. But who cares, it’s the wife’s birthday tomorrow and if that doesn’t go well then we’ve really got a problem.
G B Hewitt. 16.9.2016