Serge Too Mad to Beg
An item came through on the news-tape yesterday. I thought I’d seen it before.
Most likely I had. Because this year, the mainstream press has been hanging on to what it thinks it does best.
Madeleine still missing; Diana still dead; Amy Winehouse still a mess; footballers still roasting.
It’s like the sad end to a long relationship. The love has gone.
Now in its place, a clingy desperation. Hollow harking to the good old days.
But those days were spontaneous. They were full of wine and desire. Like Serge Gainsbourg when he met Whitney Houston.
However the presenter tries to translate it, you heard what Serge said.
It was mad. It was spontaneous. It was loveably news for one reason: you’d want to talk about it.
What was the last thing you found, or did, and wanted to tell people about?
Because that, my friend, is the news we want. Performance, not repeats.
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