The recent spate of tales in the press about Donald Trump and his misogynistic comments about women have clearly been dug with a hefty political spade from the mires of time. And then kept on ice until it is close enough to the presidential elections to cause real damage, as opposed to being spun back into the annals of memory by his furiously back-pedaling political party.
It just goes to show that you should be careful what you say, doesn’t it? And what you do. Because somebody will always remember, or, these days, have a recording of it. And it doesn’t matter how much time has eclipsed since you made your faux pas, or your dreadful comments, or your bad behaviour, because for the aggrieved or injured party, it’s still today.
This is quite a complex issue really because how do you then respond, once you’ve been found out? Do you apologise profusely (you certainly should – we all make mistakes), or do you try and spin the blame around and deflect it from yourself (indicative then that the aggrieved are correct in giving you a wide berth in future, for all adults with a sense of decency should have it within them to apologise for their actions and admit when they are wrong).
But it seems these days that we live in a culture of blame, either enjoying playing the whimpering victim or just believing ourselves to be blameless and morally seamless. And, really, who can possibly believe that of themselves? Who isn’t ashamed of some past or current behaviours (externally of egotists, narcissists and sociopaths)?
At least by confronting an issue and holding your hands up, you show yourself to have some humanity and give yourself a chance to walk away with a shred of decency intact.
I wonder what Trump will do? Thus far, he has sent his wife out as his defense, playing the ‘I am a woman’ card. The coward. Though who would expect more from a man who is a danger to the entire world, unless enough Americans see sense on November 8th? For despite looking like a buffoon and having a surname normally associated with flatulence, a lot of people seem to be listening to him. Scary times.
Grrr… Simon Cowell… Grrrrr…
I am pleased to report that I only remembered a couple of days ago that the X-Factor is even on TV at the moment. I loathe this programme – a far cry to during its heyday around 7 years ago when I used to always tune in.
Perhaps it’s just my age now? Or the fact that there are only so many ways to spice up a tired old format that’s now been done to death, and the vacuous celebrity-obsessed numptys that it spawns.
Even the continuation of lining the pockets of Simon Cowell grates on my nerves and, of course, the demise of the Christmas Number One – something I’ve banged on about before, but that rankles me every year nevertheless.
A reader wrote into the letters page recently agreeing with a point I had made in a column.
This particular reader, Tony Hamlett, also mentioned my name and said that he hopes it is real – I am happy to say Tony that it is indeed! My maiden name is Verity Lush and I have always therefore written under it, as my writing career began long before I was married.
My maiden name is also of extreme sentimental value to me, being the only child of an only child, and given that my father passed away when I was 12. The Lush name is too good a one to be forgotten.
Thank you for taking the time to write in, Tony.
First published in The Portsmouth News, Saturday 15th October 2016