But our time was different, we thought, and we seem still to think, because even now we can’t work out what happened.Īt 17 I was (let me be bold, let me put it on record) gorgeous, and gorgeous in exactly the way a person was supposed to be in 1964. It was there to be read about in classical and modern literature, in histories, in drama, poetry and the defeated mutterings of our own grandparents and parents. It’s a generational thing, disappointment part of a cycle of anger, action and failure that is as inevitable as hormone fluctuation, but which seems to have taken the postwar baby boomers quite by surprise. Of course, the fact that she has to complain now about the world gone to wrack and ruin means that back then, at her most gladiatorial, the world took not a blind bit of notice and went on its way, impervious. Time was she would have leapt on the barricades and given the world a piece of her mind, explaining exactly what it had to do to shape up. Numbers are what count.Ī year or two ago Germaine Greer, discussing the shortlisted artists for the Turner Prize, ended huffily by saying that if this is the way the world is now, she was delighted that she wouldn’t have to be part of it for very much longer.
#Googly movie true believers tv
Politics and reality TV are one and the same at present, if the Piers Morgan experience is anything to go by. But it seems from these diaries that it is actually the way the world is. I imagined that there was some more solid substance beneath the mental lassitude. I had thought that the obsession with celebrity and PR was just the idleness of the newspapers and television providing what was easiest to sell for an audience who wanted what was easiest to absorb.
They might as well be editors of tabloid newspapers offering perks to their mates and doom to their enemies. Blair and his advisers might as well be Jordan, Fergie and Patsy Kensit flirting with Piers in the hope of getting more of the right kind or less of the wrong kind of coverage. He cajoles, whines, ducks out of sight and makes threats based on his position. Blair, like Morgan, promises and evades, sulks and blames others.
Quite why she was those things is something that her husband might have been the very person to investigate, but Freud was nobody’s fool and knew when to leave well alone in the murkier regions of his personal life – especially that dark continent in his mind concerning women.īlair comes out of this as Morgan’s twin brother. There is nothing more liberating from domestic drudgery and the guilt that comes of avoiding it than having a cleaning lady who loves cleaning, a child-carer who’s content with child-care, a homebody who wants nothing more than to be at home. Wives, of either sex, are what keep the universe orderly and quiet enough for the great to think their thoughts, complete their travels, write their books and change the world. In the membership roll of the worshipful guild of enabling wives, the name of Martha Freud ranks with the greatest: Mrs Noah, Mrs Darwin, Mrs Marx, Mrs Joyce, Mrs Nabokov, Mrs Clinton, and their honorary fellows, Mr Woolf and Mr Cookson.
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