Waging a tiny war against daft corporate ‘intimacy’

THERE are so many things about modern living that could induce constant rage if you let them.

Instead you build up a kind of resistant glass wall around yourself so that the sheer stupidity of life outside your front door does not make you routinely lose the plot in your local Tesco (“unexpected item in the bagging area”) or every time you pick up a magazine (“now with alpha-hydroxy regenerist pro-retinol extract of foetal collagen scientifically proven to reverse the ageing process and make you 22 again, but better”).

No. You let all that stuff glide over you, because otherwise you would slide towards psychosis faster than a marble going down a hill. Instead we stoically accept that the world is run by a cabal of lizard people, where governments are mere puppets and the real rulers are those scaly shadowy figures nobody has ever voted for, hiding behind companies so vast and impenetrable their annual turnover outweighs the GNP of medium sized nations. And no, this is not the paranoid ravings of someone who hasn’t had their morning caffeine yet. If only.