Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Silence, nagging voice ...

So it turns out Jade Goody is really genuinely dying from fancer.

What's fancer you ask? Fanny cancer.

Don't worry, if it was a similar sort of bloke, I'd say nadcer, or cancer-balls, or something.

I must say I'm a bit confused by own reaction to all this. From the very first time I saw her on Big Brother, I found Goody to be the personification of the gobby tabloid ignorance that crystallises the very worst in English culture.

But now as she's literally being eaten away inside at a young age, I'm reconsidering.

To her credit, Goody has never pretended to be anything other than she is: a very 21st Century working class white girl. And she's made more cash than any other Big Brother contestant despite not even winning the show.

She's also as much as a product of us than anything else - she put herself up on the shelf and the British public bought her schtick, however unconscious much of it may be, by the bucketload.

Getting a bit Pseuds Corner, she reminds me of the prole women in 1984. In her completely unself-aware insularity, she manages to reveal the machinations of Inner Party types like Mandelson and their bumbling Outer Party minions like Derek Draper for the hideously contrived bullshit it is.

I can't say I'll actively miss Goody when she shuffles off into the great Diary Room in the sky in a few months time but then - hey! - thousands of people die an hour and I don't grieve for them either.

But I certainly don't dislike her anymore and I have to admit to a grudging respect. You got dealt a shit hand in life Jade - with the crackhead Mum and all - and you played it pretty well.

May your journey be swift and the WKD Blue flowing wherever you end up.

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