Journalism....?

Dear Jan Moir,

Appalling. I'm really not sure if there is any other word for it. I think to make snide insinuating remarks about a man no longer here to defend himself is deplorable, at best it's lazy journalism. Lots of people in this world could write beautiful columns, that are informative, enriching and based in fact, hell take a look to the left of this page, pick a link, any link, what you'd find is infinitely more inspiring than the hate filled, bile inducing, "article" that passed for a column in your paper last Friday.

In this day and age, we should be celebrating each others differences and yet people like you, have yet to learn how to tolerate them. You may think you know everything, but in the face of a coroner's findings your words, if they weren't quite so horrid, well, they would be laughable. I think the doctor who investigated his death, well I'm guessing he spent a long time studying in order to obtain the qualification that enabled him to give Stephen's mother a reason for her son's untimely and shocking death. I'm not sure insinuating his mother is deluded in her beliefs about her son's death were warranted, perhaps a few words of kindness or sympathy were too much for your venomous fingers to type?

The thing is, everyone in this world if they are lucky, means the world to at least one other person, even if he wasn't famous, he would still be someone's brother, husband or son. Which in turn means the same for you, you are someone's wife, mother or daughter and for the reason alone, surely somewhere in you, there is compassion for others, maybe not, maybe years of working at that poisonous rag some like to call a newspaper, has clubbed it out of you.

I wouldn't try to defend your article, sometimes when you are wrong, and let's be clear, you are very wrong, the best course of action is simply to apologise...

Yours sincerely,

I Don't Like Mondays...

Dear Sunday,

Today, I am in Vienna and I remembered what you were all about. Nothing was open, I slept in, I ate a long lazy breakfast, I went in a horse and carraige.

You have always been my favourite day of the week. Whenever working in the past, I always think it's a delightful treat if a day off falls on you. There's something about you that allows me to keep my p.j.s on and stay in bed with the papers. You couldn't ever imagine Tuesday allowing me to behave in such a fashion. Car Boots, couldn't possibly occur on a Thursday and I couldn't imagine a village hall, having a sale of work on any other day but you.

I wonder if you miss the days before gigantic shopping centres, the days when people actually spent time together instead of racing around ugly buildings buying things they neither wanted nor could afford? I run the risk of sounding like someone's nan here, but I'll take it for you Sunday. Do you feel hard done by when someone has a McMurderers, instead of a Sunday roast? You know, the kind of breaking the bread that bring families together, instead of the kind of meal that gives your kid cancer/diabetes and has the audacity to call it a happy meal.

I liked that today I could do nothing but walk around and see some stuff I hadn't seen before. I liked that nothing unimportant was allowed to distract me from architecture and blue sky. I liked hanging out with you Sunday and I hope to do it again very soon...

Yours sincerely,