'I just WANT the way you write...

...to change the way I see the world.'

IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

I yell my face off this morning at the sodding crappy Guardian. Usually, I yell that well-worn line at my husband, who now doesn't take any notice of it.

The fact that I am ignored does not change my opinion, not one jot.

Because, if you commit to writing, then you have amazing powers and awful responsibilities. As in:

a) have a bit of passion about stuff;
b) communicate your passion in a way that puts a spring in your word;
c) surprise me with a different point of view;
d) take me to a different landing place than the point we took off.

If odd bits of copy are shite, well I can forgive that, because we each have a living to earn: we need to forgive off-days. But GodHelpMe, don't make your full output a pile of vacuous buggerall nothingness.

Maybe I should blame the newspapers. I mean, look what happened to the Independent! It started out as a real voice and ended up as fuckall, simply helping to create the expectation that copy has no more duty than be off down the charity shop to wrap up broken glass destined for the tip.

Now, if I want to read vacuous empty piles of nothing, then I will read a load of ad copy.

I hope you're not reading, because I'm going to get personal. Incensed I was, that I spent two minutes of my precious life reading this.

What I wanted was some cut-and-bruise copy about student debt, financing, class, income, expectation, social responsibilities, the function of the state, you know, some real hard-nosed truth and understanding of how the world works. And what do I fucking get? An arse nugget of mother-to-daughter wisdom like 'shop like mama and buy a cheaper shampoo'.

Jeez, what I need to do is pass on wisdom like that, and get paid for it. Wisdom like that is why I left the shitty job in advertising. Actually, I got sacked. Because I couldn't write shitty crap like Buy this shampoo! It's cheap! It's exactly like expensive slop Fruit Tropical Mango Otter Fanny AND it's coloured green looking like pewk! Gorgeous eh? You'll stink like a dead badger's arse.

So here's a bit of real advice I take from today.

Grit. Never, ever, ever turn to the Family pages of the Guardian again. You'll waste your life. You'll get hot under the collar. You'll be driven mad by frustration at the way writers toss out crap, void of responsibility or even the wits to engage an intelligent readership. You'll hate the entire news industry and you'll likely never want to read a newspaper again. Then, after stewing on writer responsibility for half an hour, you'll bash out your vile bile to Planet Earth and press Publish before you even had the second, wiser, thought to remove the fucks. Fuckit. I just wanted the way you write to change the way I see the world. Fuck was it much to ask.

PS. What actually flipped me was the pathetic article on Hong Kong education.
PPS. The above requirement on the writtering crafters does not extend to me, obviously, due to the fact that no-one pays for my written wrods. On account of nothing, I can afford to be luxuriously selfish.