Simper whine bleat whinge.
(And don't you just adore that whole downtrodden "Father, forgive them" pose?)
Not an ounce of regret except where the wallet winces.
The great Paul Gambaccini joins Rod Liddle in sussing them out right.
Someone else nailed them, too. The great Bob Dylan could have been thinking of exactly this shower when he reminded us that,
"Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.
How does it feel?
How does it feel? ...
Princes on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts
But you'd better take your BBC job, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
A Manuel in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal."
Terminal: God is working his purpose out. £800,000, is it now? Repute this!
And repute this, the sober sane salutary sensible Charles 'Old' Moore:
"I find myself in the strange position of recommending that people listen to the full recording of the Ross/Brand BBC broadcast of their telephone calls to Andrew Sachs's answering machine. You need to do so to understand what we are dealing with.
People keep describing these calls as "mindless", "a mistake", a "prank".
If you listen, you realise they are none of these things."