BY L.Y. ENGYTT, MEDIA EDITOR

“WHEN MEN CHOOSE not to believe in God, they do not thereafter believe in nothing. They then become capable of believing in anything.”

Belgian author Emile Cammaerts’ words must be following Sinead O’Connor to wherever she is now. Because even for someone who played the Virgin Mary at one time, elevation to Messiah must be slightly surprising. If perhaps not completely unexpected. Can resurrection be far away?

And as for all those friends in the media, whoda thunk it? She was the gift that just kept on giving to them. The slow motion train wreck that never stopped leaving the tracks. Between its tell me everything smiles, the Press licked its lips, and its audiences lapped it all up. The more obviously crazy her antics, the more meaning they were given. Isn’t madness the abandonment of reason? Or its impossibility? The poor girl wasn’t even allowed to simply go mad in peace. Icons are not granted such luxury. The public makes high demands of its deities.

As usual, Ireland followed England down the rabbit hole, and a quarter century after London went collectively doolally, the Princess Diana virus has clearly jumped the Irish sea, it seems. If there is not a miracle attributed to old Shiny Head’s sanctified spirit, and a call for her beatification, there can definitely be no God. But, on the other hand, what deity would bother its arse with people who demand things like that? If Elton John is writing a song, tell him not to.

The outpouring of – let’s not dignify it with the word, emotion, or even grief – horrified wailing, we’ll say, one can only presume is a result of climate change, and resembles more a tantrum for a lost toy than any genuine feelings for someone people actually knew. Drivel and cant are language of the worship of false idols. Entitlement is the accent they speak with.

The woman had one major hit single, thirty odd years ago, written by someone else, but nicely sung and well rewarded. She was pretty then. Entropy has not been kind since. Her musical career – nice voice aside – has ridden mainly on a tidal wave of personal tragedy and quite a lot of unhelpful attention seeking; while her long and grotesque descent into a private hell has been the useful profit margin of at least some of the more shameless voices now claiming to have been her besties. What do they say? With friends like that …”

*Shite, I meant to write a eulogy, telling how she changed me and the world and the universe forever, claiming a deep and undying friendship with her. Instead, I published my genuine thoughts by accident. Damn computers. Can I get it back?

YOU’RE FIRED! – ED