While I was waiting for Red Riding to come on - and frankly, it was so slow and boring after last week that I really shouldn't have bothered - I caught about 20 minutes of Jade's wedding.
It's the very definition of car crash TV. That poor girl. I'm not sure whether it's all her idea or all Max Clifford's idea, but talk about milking it. She looked beautiful, it must be said, being the belle-laide type normally, but the whole thing was a ghastly circus, as if the pages of OK! magazine had suddenly burst into life.
There was Max, Jade's mother, the odd journo I recognised sitting in the congregation (and quite far forward too), the odd famous face (if you can call singing coach Kevin Whatisname from Fame Academy famous), all looking on as the frankly rather odd celebrant - not sure if he actually was a vicar - took charge of proceedings. This sweaty, bizarre man said some really quite strange things about heaven and death then suddenly burst into a reedy, tuneless song. Jade and Jack didn't know where to put themselves. But of course the overriding graveness of the whole situation put paid to any laughter. That came later.
Jack and Jade had to say their vows and repeat otherworldly sentiments at each other, and both cracked up laughing. But for all this, while Jade cut a tragic, hairless figure who was clearly finding the whole thing really difficult to deal with, both mentally and physically, what with her being just weeks away from death, Jack looked as if he was there under sufferance. It may be harsh but I don't believe his heart is in it at all. He's a smirking, bad to the bone no mark. Rumour has it he's already tried to get his money back on his wedding suit, and in this he seemed far happier than any man who's about to lose the woman of his dreams has a right to be. His speech was literally 15 seconds long and mostly about his best man. Don't get too excited Jack, none of that cash is coming YOUR way. It's the kids I feel sorry for.
At this point, I switched over. I think this whole thing is the worst kind of exploitation, and as I've said previously, people are like the women who knitted at the foot of the guillotine, waiting to witness a death. Truly, I'm really uncomfortable with the way this is playing out.
When Jade dies, will this type of celebrity will die with her? I do hope so.
6 comments:
I know I generally don't 'get' things that others take for granted, but I really don't understand why they even wanted to get married:
1. She's going to die.
2. He's a good-for-nothing gaolbird.
3. Is a publicity stunt really worth selling your soul that much?
But anyway, cheer up F-C - it's Red Nose Day!
You know how much I hate that, Cocktails.
This quote from Noel Gallagher sums it all up really:
"I was watching the TV today and theyre all outside her house, he says. Theres a global crisis apparently going on, and its ‘Jack Straw, could you have a look at this? Max Clifford somehow manages to shape the mood of the nation.
I mean, Ive got f*** all against Jade Goody, thats nothing to do with me. But it bends my head. That, to me, sums up, in one tiny five-minute thing on the news, what an embarrassing place Britain is right now. You might as well shut No 10 Downing Street down and get Max Clifford to run the country."
And another sign of these troubled times is when Noel Gallagher can precis the state of the nation better than most of our professional rent-an-opinions.
Quite
Equally, what's more important to bring to the attention of the general public:
1. The global economic crisis, which your average Joe Bloggs can do absolutely sod all about;
2. The importance of cancer screening/smear tests for young women?
At the risk of agreeing with Max Clifford (who's obviously only in it for the money), if the death of a bigoted reality TV star has some positive outcome on the shocking state of the cost-cut-to-the-point-of-total-inefficiency NHS, then, cynicism aside, I can't see what's wrong with that.
Of course, man of the people Noel Gallagher is no doubt BUPAed up to his monobrowed eyeballs, so what does he care?
The NHS is alright. As a sufferer of a long-term bowel complaint (alright, ladies, one at a time!), I've had more experience than most folk of hospitals, and I've always been treated efficiently and well. Plus, there's this one nurse in Lincoln hospital who I'd willingly sell my mother into slavery to get my hands on. Jesus, the tits on 'er ...
PHWOOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!
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