Dog Bites Man

I have this mental picture of a flash flood. It crashes into town, gold medallion round its neck, driving a very fast car, and waving wads of cash around. Everyone is very intimidated and jumps into the sea.

We live in an age of hyped reality, don't we? There are frankly too many people working in the medja, too many radio stations, television channels, magazines, newspapers. All the idle employees are sitting twiddling their thumbs waiting for something, anything, to happen. 21 year old near-children fuck off to Iraq to try to find some news, to try to make a name for themselves, like Evelyn Waugh characters. Only there are hundreds of the bloody things, hanging around waiting to get mortar bombed or kidnapped. The only story is they are the story.

Flash my arse. There have always been flash floods: it's a thing that happens, a thing that happens in the opening credits of an episode of CSI. But it's not the end of the fucking world, is it? Can you smell the desperation?

And, Jesus, it happened in Cornwall for Christ's sake. Couldn't happen to nicer people, could it? Unless it was the Welsh or Scottish.