SISTERS IN SORROW, AYE, RIGHT.
I'm sick of all this shit. Mother Payne, above, with the witch of Chipping Norton, claims to be absolutely devastated by something or other, some of her friends at skymadeupnewsandfilth turn out to be - fuck me who'd have thought it - filthsters, even though they helped to create her own charity and helped her get the law changed, now they've gone and absolutely devastated her, all over again. I would've thought, I do think, that having your kid nonced to death is absolutely devastating and that, thereafter, finding out that someone had your phone number might be at most irritating, not, it seems, here, in Ruin. Totally and absolutely devastated is the immediate response to any slight, any rupture of one's amour propre.
It is, of course, the Colin Parry Syndrome, in which anyone unlawfully bereaved is entitled to be front and centre, demanding this and that, as though we had no laws, no law enforcement, as though their loss invests them with the wisdom of Solomon, unable to grieve in private and make what adjustments as one can, the modern victim requires not just the quiet sympathy of the rest of us but a howling, shrieking, demanding celebrity. Colin Parry famously wangling a radio programme for himself after his son, Tim, was killed by Kneecaps's bold volunteers, famously name-dropping that As I was saying to Princess Diana only this morning, famously seeing his Mrs, also bereaved, walk out on him, pigsick of his lust for celebrity.
I never cared for Sarah Payne and her campaigning; rightly, we don't have victims' justice and those who, whipped-up by the likes of the foul Rebekah Woods, demand it are the same sort of people who would burn paediatricians out of their homes, are those whose currency is neglect and stupidity, are those who, at one level, manage to blame an entire police force for their own dismal parental neglect, those who shout the loudest being themselves the emptiest vesseels, the cracked bells.
It's almost an adjunct to the absurd posturing of the multiculturalists, this public, celebrity victimhood, people who haven't a pot to piss in starting their "own" charities, as though they were poncing on the Civil List like Charlie and the rest of them and had to find some means to justify themselves. Of course in the case of the loathsome Gerry and Cilla McCann the charity wheeze usefully paid off the mortgage and sent the family off around the world, first class; I doubt Sarah Payne is in their league of devilry and is as much sinned against as sinning, the weirdo Brooks peddling compassion and sisterhood as glibly as she peddled tits and tittle tattle. Even so, she and other unfortunates, cruelly bereaved need to learn the value of the phrases No Comment and This Is A Private Matter, they need to grieve in private or, like the relatives of those murdered on the Moors, spend a lifetime being egged on, having their hatreds stoked, living a life of no return, truly, a life totally and utterly devastated. If Mother Payne has any proper friends they'll tell her to shut the fuck up.