Shallow as spit

After my first term or two away at college I was back home hanging around down shore shelter. Having been away for at least a month or two and being a teenager I knew it all. I can't remember the details but we were talking about someone famous who'd said something. There was an old man, except he was probably much younger then than I am now, called Charlie Ninnis. He'd been around, war, sea, life. He never said much just smiled, sometimes but when he did speak I'm sure his beret moved more than his lips and all he said was, "Shallow as spit, boy, shallow as spit". End of. A lovely character as so many were men who'd lived a life.

Yesterday morning I noted a news report that emergency services had recovered two bodies from the sea off Margate, Kent. At or about 0520 pagers summoned the local coastguard teams, their helicopter crews and the crew and shore helpers of Margate lifeboat. I could picture every detail. Ordinary blokes responding in the darkness and storm in an instant to go to the aid of a couple of people they didn't know, not that it mattered at all,

That was it. By tea time the airwaves, internet and tv was awash with Caroline Flack. I had no idea who she was but she'd taken her own life at 40. Very sad. It seems to me that she was a minor celebrity who had climbed to celeb status by standing in front of cameras to flash her teeth and curves. Suddenly there were showers of Twitter extolling her virtues, singing her praises, unsmiling smileys abounded. One caught my ear, she had so many friends it told us. Shallow as spit.

When it really mattered she never had a friend in the world, not one she could go to, not one she could ring, she was utterly alone. Suicide is a terrible and complex thing and rarely when it is intended will it fail to succeed. It should be recognised that the state of mind must have been in unbearable turmoil which I suggest should warrant something more than emojis and tweets that are shallow as spit.

Some time this week or next we will be shown the luvvies attending her funeral. They'll make sure there's a gap between them as they parade to the door so as to ensure that they don't have to share the camera frame with anyone else. They will be hemmed in by crush barriers to keep the crowds back. The crowds with their camera phones to the fore hoping for a shot of some celeb or other and hopefully a selfie. Mourners? I think not, in their worId it's about being seen. I suspect that without press, cameras and adoring public the attendees would be noticeably fewer.

Indeed, the week began with We buy any car.schofield confessing his gayness live on air. I wasn't watching but you couldn't avoid the luvvie responders. Characteristically shallow as spit. I know nothing of him except that he began on hospital radio in Derriford and I only know that because the hospital radio man told me when I was in there. So, Schofield was able to find a shoulder to cry on, in the full glare of a tv studio, of course. Ooooo, aaaaah, hero, such bravery, we're all so proud of you and so it went on sounding somewhat less than sincere. Reminded me of sick dropping into a bucket.

I knew I was gay before I got married, he told the members of his adoring bubble. Then why did you get married? Because in those days to be identified as homosexual would hardly have furthered you career, thus marriage was the easiest option, it was self serving, self centred and utterly gutless, spineless. It used to be called cowardice and was not looked on favourably. But times have changed, to identify as homosexual now gives kudos, admiration, pats on the back and more fame yet, so it was worth wrecking a marriage, putting space between those you say you loved.

Bravery, being heroic would have cost, but then, it always does. The right thing to do, the courageous thing to do, the brave thing to do would have been to stand by the vows you made, take the hit and kept quiet about it. But self serving selfishness combined with spineless cowardice made it all a price worth paying. Shallow as spit.

Then we had Joker preaching to us at the oscars. A man recognised as being good at learning lines and pretending to be someone he isn't. I didn't see it, haven't heard it but I read chunks and that's exactly what it comes across as. A man pretending. I was bad but you gave me a second chance, be kind, look after the planet and on it went. An essay of wokeness, another actor telling us that he knows better than us and we should do what he says, not what he does of course. Shallow as spit.

My Brexit vote was always a political issue but it became a moral one when the front page of the papers showed Bob Geldof flicking V signs and hurling profanities at Nigel Farage and a bunch of fishermen on the Thames. Ordinary fishermen who earned their living the hard way ridiculed by a so called pop star. Now, let me admit that I have some sympathy for Geldof having suffered tragedy and written beautifully of his daughter, Peaches but he's not alone in that. Apart from which, what's he really done? Made about 15minutes of memorable music and organised Live aid, well done but if he's the face of live aid Midge Ure was the heart and backbone. Anyway they raised a huge amount of money for famine relief. Fantastic, kudos, respect. Now, tell me why that gives him the right to denigrate, belittle, profane and insult a boat full of ordinary working fishermen who work every day in a hostile environment, none of whom would be unfamiliar with tragedy and serious injury. Geldof, shallow as spit.

On Brexit, too, my decision was reinforced by being called every unpleasant name under the sun by another luvvie, Hugh Grant. I mean, put him in front of the cameras on his own terms and its all cheesy grins and look at me. Photograph him outside toilets in L.A. soliciting prostitutes the press are the most evil people on earth, except for leave voters who are thick as well otherwise they wouldn't have voted as they did. I hope he realises he confirmed the rightness of my vote. Who is he to pontificate on such things. He can learn lines but even Joker played Johnny Cash, Grant only plays himself it seems to me and even I can do that. Shallow as spit.

Don't even mention Lineker, ex footballer, private life hardly exemplary, sells crisps. I like crisps. Don't like football even less footballers who say awful things about me as well. Another one, shallow as spit. I could go on. My brain wants to my finger doesn't.

I would like to know who lost their lives off Margate, though. The press won't be interested unless of course, they are celebrities but I doubt that.  What I do not doubt is that those two bodies recovered from the sea have families who are distraught, in the inky depths of sorrow, despair leaving the dried tear tracks just that bit harder to wipe away. We won't hear about them but we can mourn for those who mourn, whose lives have forever changed in an instant. Those left behind are going to have to face each day with a degree of bravery and the quiet heroism that just makes you get on and do what needs to be done.

You want to to know what heroism costs? Speak to the partners of those in bed in the early hours of a cold and stormy night when a pager goes off and they're left behind. Want to see a hero? Don't bother asking those who respond to the pagers, not one would consider themselves brave, let alone heroic. They're just ordinary people you'd pass in the street, glad to be able to help when it really matters but more glad to be left alone afterwards.

Real heroes, Google Bill Deacon, washed off a winchwire trying to rescue the crew of a ship in a storm under the Hebridean cliffs. Look at the names carved in stone on Penlee lifeboat house wall, or St.Ives, Fraserborough, Broughty Ferry et al.

You can learn more in a throwaway line from a person who's lived a life than a lifetime paying heed to celebrities and their luvvie hangers on who being shallow as spit have nothing to offer except by way of warning. I actually feel sorry for them in their insular, isolated luvvie bubbles, fawning studios and baying crowds of aspirants there lies a great fear, I suspect the greatest is the fear of dying alone. Or maybe it's being found out for being what they are, shallow as spit.

Thanks, Charlie. Such a depth of wisdom, made growing up where and when I did a privilege and being amongst real people who said it as it is more precious than gold.