You may have missed the roll out, but Julie Burchill has become an advice columnist. She is writing for something called Loaded magazine. Since it is published in Great Britain you need not, if you live elsewhere, feel embarrassed at never having heard of it.
If you haven’t read Julie Burchill, you are missing something. I am happy to help remedy the situation.
Anyway, some poor sod named Ted wrote to Agony Aunt Burchill. It was published in the October issue of the magazine, and thus its appearance here is slightly out of joint, season-wise:
I can’t enjoy the summer because I’m afraid of global warming. What’s wrong with me?
Obviously, poor Ted was looking to get thrashed by JB.
If so, her response probably pleased him, in a special way:
Private Frazer in Dad’s Army used to get laughed at when he’d start muttering, “Doomed, doomed – we’re all doomed!” Amazingly, this now passes for informed political discourse among certain sections of conservationist ‘thinkers’ – and I use the term loosely there. I myself am not a conservationist – if it ain’t broke, break it! And I am sceptical about global warning. I do however have friends who are like you, and I find them boring beyond belief when they start up with their a-weepin’ and a-wailin’ over the fate of the poor polar bears – who, let’s face it, would take your arm off in a minute if they met you, no matter whether you have a monthly direct debit with Greenpeace or not. In such situations I’m inclined to say, “Yes, isn’t it shocking? Look – a rainbow!” Or just turn the car radio up really loud. They soon get the message.
Are you actually doing anything to make the world a better place, or are you happy to just sit around brooding over how bad things are, like a miser with money? If so, you may be what I call an ‘Amockalypsist’ or a ‘Why-oh- whiner’. The first gets a parasexual thrill from believing that he lives in the very worst of times; the second from moaning. What both have in common is that their lives are often quite dull, and utterly self-centred. Try volunteering. Your local church will be able to point you the right way, or just ask at any charity shop. If this doesn’t work, aim to stay home and inflict your buzz-kill attitude on cheerier folk. No one likes a moaner – unless they’re very hot, rich and famous. And there’s only one Lana Del Rey.
I am not sure what this all means, but the riff about polar bears is charming, to say the least.
Anyway, a dose of Burchill should cheer you up on even the dreariest Sunday morning. It will serve as the antidote to green guilt.