Fiona Mackeown, above, famously left her daughter, Scarlett, 16, in sunny Goa, with a 25 year old druggy boyfriend, whilst she took her other six children by assorted, absent fathers off somewhere else on the sub-continent; on her return, the sixteen year old was drugged, raped and dead. Ever since, Fiona, like her social betters, Gerry and Cilla, has been blaming the local police for her/their own scandalous neglect. As though failures of investigation somehow obliterate the initial neglect. Gerry and Cilla are, by their own admission, wonderful parents, everybody leaves a three-year old alone, at night, in charge of two two year olds, in a strange apartment, in a strange town with a transient population and goes out on the piss with valued professional colleagues, absolutely everybody.
Fiona's trip was, it turns out, funded by her fiddling the benefits system to the tune of nearly twenty grand, for which offence she now faces imprisonment. This is unfortunate for she is due, shortly, in India, to give evidence on the trial of those accused of her daughter's killing and may, therefore, have to give this evidence by videolink from jail in order to, as she says, in the odious, current parlance, Get Justice for Scarlett, quite what the Indians will make of this visitation from the Old Country is difficult to guess; not, probably, a lot. Delivering Justice to the dead has always struck me as a pretty fatuous aspiration, giving due care and attention to the living seems much more desirable and attainable than any amount of cloze-ya and moving forward, over lines drawn , down the highway of tabloid emotion.
Fiona is, she says, fund-raising, trying to get this twenty grand off other people, so that she can pay it into court and mitigate her sentence, the irony of it all is miles over her self-besotted head, the silly cow, steal the money in the first place, beg it in the second. Some of her troubles, she insists, are down to misfortunes, she has "come out of an abusive relationship" trans: she was fucking some worthless thug and "loves her children to bits" trans: is utterly irresponsible. One of her formers, the father of two of her unfortunate spawn has recently died from alcoholic poisoning.
The tale of Fiona and Scarlett is horrid and it is fuel for all those who, Portillo-like, bash the single mum rather than the absent father, whilst extolling, applauding the torturer and the war criminal, Blair, Pinochet, Kissinger, Straw, Hoon; none of these will feel the contempt flung at Fiona, her ancient, stretchmarked midriff exposed for the snappers, her dereliction compounded with every unprotected EarthMother coupling, barebacking with every passing drunk.
Resent her as we may, though, Fiona and the hideous McCanns speak a language of entitlement, selfishness, of individuial rights and loves taught them by the state and by skymadeupnewsandfilth. It is ok for the feckless to be so, as long as they Love My Kids To Bits. I can't be the only one perplexed by the Army mums Loving Their Sons To Bits, rather more loving in these lone-parent households than one would think was healthy; Lance Bombardier Wayne unreasonably being expected to fill the emotional gap left by his absent dad or succession of dads, natural, step, common-law or overnight and if Fiona should lose a son to the Blair Wars we can anticipate her pushing herself front and centre, demanding Justice, body armour, helicopters, whatever. May be in a reactionary minority here but I am sick to death of gobby parents Loving Their Kids To Bits; I would just rather they looked after them, instead.
And all the while the cancer runs riot through the national body. In earlier, better days, the McCanns would have been spat at in the street, ostracised, now they pursue a second career, travelling the world, First Class, suing people and liaising with law enforcement and welfare agencies on how best to protect children, Kafka would shit himself in disbelief at the surreality of Gerry and Cilla, Beardy Branson, Kirsty Wark and young parent Gordon Snot. The lower orders, on the sink estates, amazed at the exent of the McCann's scamming, now try to emulate them. Doctor knows best.
In earlier days, Fiona Mackeown, her foolish, imbecile fecundity and gabshitery would have been sorted, by parents, health visitors, by extended family, even by a responsible, considerate husband; now she has fucked and whined and blabbered her way through Lord knows how much heartache and may wind up in jail, her children further neglected, she a laughing stock at home and abroad.
That both Mackeown and the revolting McCanns have acted so irresponsibly and yet deny any wrongdoing indicates the extent of this malaise, Fiona may well have been skint all her life but the other two shitbags were being well paid, it is not a poverty-related issue, this sense of blamelessness, righteousness, even; the worse one behaves, it seems, the greater one's whining McCannery.
Whatever spurious, self-exculpatory bullshit these people peddle to skymadeupnewsandfilth, they must, presumably, at some point, in an empty room, out of the spotlight to which they accustom themselves, sit down and weep for their greed and their lies, for the children they neglected.
But they are tutored, of course, in their behaviour, from on high. The Queen, the heir to the throne, the Lords, the Commons, the Bar and the Bench, the Church and the Media; take your pick, murderers, thieves, embezzlers, blackmailers, ponces, pimps, slags, child molesters and Oh, Fuck me, I just remembered this conversation with Paul Burrell, aren't I a silly old monarch?
The thing which is so sad about Fiona is that one used to be able to confidently expect better of the working class, they just didn't do this exotic shit. Now, governed by reprobates, scoundrels and degenerates, why shouldn't they?
GERRY AND CILLA McCANN
HOT ON THE TRAIL OF SOME MORE MONEY.