My parents were incurable ABBA fans; it drove me nuts. Okay fine, it didn’t drive me nuts, I love it too, but covertly. It wasn’t the cool thing to love when I was younger…or now.

I was doing something completely mundane like washing dishes when I suddenly wondered about my parents in Heaven. I’m pretty sure they’re in Heaven, they were great people. I wondered if they’ve met anyone famous over there. Like Elvis. I wondered what their reaction will be when one day they meet Benny, Agnetha and the other A and B from ABBA. Gosh, I hope those Swedes are good people too…

At this point, my seat in Heaven is merely a rental. And I say this with some confidence after having watched the Britney Spears documentary, Framing Britney Spears. Because I didn’t live under a rock as a kid, I was as severely aware of Miss Spears’s global domination as everyone else. I didn’t mind her music. I didn’t buy it but I didn’t want to set myself on fire when it played on the radio. I didn’t mind her. But despite that, I was happy to join in jokes about her and I totally bought the propoganda that she was cheap and desperate and horrible as a mom.

After seeing the documentary – one that she didn’t even parttake in – I feel horrible. In the greater scheme of things I’m no-one. But if millions of no-ones believe something, does it not ring true? If millions of no-ones bark criticism at what is essentially a young girl, can it not break a spirit? And if millions of no-ones stand up and say ‘no, that’s enough’, will it not matter?

The Artist formerly known as Prince Harry and his wife, Meghan are set to be interviewed in a few minutes. News reels have been saturated with predictions of what will be said and the effect it will have on the British monarchy and its people and people across the world. To be perfectly frank, I don’t care. The little dust storms that these people create touch my life not at all. But darnit, despite this I’m happy to gossip and opine about them or their families whenever I’m invited to do so.

I loath internet trolls, but what if by my words I’m equally disgusting? What if words are pockets of energy that affect the air around me that transplant the air in the direction of the victim, which affects their mood or their luck or, worse, their mental health? Shit man, I don’t want to hurt these people…

The contents of the interview will be shoved down our throats, I’m sure. So for the next week I’m going underground. I certainly have enough work to keep me busy. Whatever happens, I wish all the parties concerned happiness and joy.

And peace man. World peace.

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