No good carrying on like a two-bob watch, my father would say, and you’d know he was mildly amused and wholly unmoved by your histrionics. It was very frustrating.
I’m not as tolerant as he was. I’m very tired of modern carryings on by adult two-bob watches.
Get over yourselves, I want to say. I don’t care how rich, famous and important you are or think you are, you’re behaving like spoilt children and I’d like to smack you.
But that, of course – the smack – would be assault. Shame, really. A few well-placed smacks on their well-padded backsides early on might have prevented a world of trouble. You were warned, and if you didn’t stop – instant punishment, all over and back to business. None of the humiliation of sitting in the naughty corner while your peers sniggered (probably scarring you for life) and trying to work up an apology for something you weren’t the least sorry about – if indeed you understood what you’d done and what ‘sorry’ really meant.
I sometimes wonder whether all this sitting in the naughty corner subjected to incomprehensible adult reasoning has fostered a sense of self-absorbed, unfocused injustice that prompts the rich, famous etc to spit their little dummies with such an air of entitlement.
It wouldn’t matter so much if other people didn’t find it riveting enough (which they must: the media doesn’t cover unprofitable stories) to divert their attention from stuff that’s really important to the future of the world.
A bit like fiddling while Rome burns, really.