What a splendid newspaper the Daily Mail is. Never fails to deliver. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving. There’s no apparent limit to the things that annoy the staffers, and they’re never backward in coming forward with splenetic harrumphing.
One arch-exponent of spluttering pseudofury is the always readable Virginia Ironside, and her bars got well and truly rattled this week. She went to 11 on Monday, so much so I began to fear for her sanity.
The target of her swivel-eyed ravings was one of the adult Ladybird books. The first series came out last October, and this year’s offerings include The Ladybird Book of the Zombie Apocalypse, which deserves to be a huge hit just for being a very silly concept indeed.
Ms Ironside found the guide to Hipsters funny. She was royally amused by the books covering The Dad, The Mum, The Wife, and The Husband. And now she’s foaming at the mouth, because one of the recent tranche dares to take a pop at The Grandparent.
She’s not exactly unbiased here, and one of the things that has ticked the ‘Let’s go bananas’ box for her is that she herself is a grandparent, and she doesn’t like having the piss taken out of her or her generation. She claims the original books were ‘written affectionately,’ but the grannie-bashing one is ‘downright cruel.’ She expressed some surprise that it ever got published at all.
Let’s get this right, shall we? She seems to think that everybody else is fair game, but she’s not? The rest of the world can have a rise taken out of it, but she’s gone all snowflake generation at the age of over 70? Which is a bit rich, really, because she’s had frequent pops at young people for getting offended too easily and being generally lily-livered about life. Now she’s come over all swoony that somebody has dared to make her the butt of the comments.
Here’s a fact for you. Every joke, every single joke there has ever been, requires a victim. Somebody has to get the custard pie in the face. No joke is victimless, so if you happen to be the victim you just have to suck it up. You can’t throw up your hands in horror just because you’re the patsy when you’ve been laughing at everybody else.
I love the Mail.