I've reached a bit of a jotting impasse. Normally I've got plenty to say - moaning primarily - but it's something, eh? I suppose I could recount my day thus far, diary-style, but the very thought of that fills me with dread. I lead a dull professional existence if I'm honest.
Current affairs is a closed book too; how can people stomach that stuff day-in day-out, I don't know. It destroys one's belief in humanity. Also, I know enough journalists to realise that their words are product. They're selling stories, not trying to enlighten us. And speak it soft, but bad news sells, so journalists are compelled to churn it out. The darker the better.
Good news makes people smile, yes, but not to the degree that they're prepared to spend £1.20 in pursuit of it. They want it for free, courtesy of the BBC news web site usually. It's like the difference between stroking a friend's cat from time to time and owning the mogster yourself. Most people aren't prepared to put up with the economic and time demands owning an animal places on them, but they also don't want to entirely close the door on the simple soothing pleasure of stroking the furry ratbag occasionally.
I'm slightly different in that I do buy a newspaper most days, but I only get it so I can stare at the crossword blankly during my lunchhour. I never read the hard news; it's simply too bleak.
The answer to six down is 'armageddon', by-the-way.
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