In the hushed, reverential tones normally reserved for the passing away of royalty, it was announced on the radio this morning that Jade Goody had died. On Mother's Day.
Jade represented the celebration of vulgarity, stupidity and ignorance in modern Western society. Those who share those characteristics empathised with her to varying degrees, and vicariously experienced her tragedy and suffering.
The decision to use Jade's cancer and death as a revenue stream for her children, is considered by many to provide sufficient justification for this public spectacle, and to place it beyond reproach or satire. On the contrary, the extension of exhibitionism to one's own death throes strips death of any sanctity, and drags it through the profanity of tabloid journalism and the prurient fascination of the public. This has been a disgusting spectacle.
Max Clifford sold his own soul for money a long time ago. This time he sold someone else's soul.
Today I feel sympathy for all those unknown millions who have died from cancer, with dignity, whose pain and tragedy was just as keen, but whose stories are known only in private to their friends and family.