Who do we "thank".....Jung, Freud, Kerry Katona ? Society has become fixated with once private detail. Whether it's a house being sold by lesbians or what kind of anti depressant some ubiquitous celebrity is on. For the perennially curious, Ms Katona favours an acuphase salad on a bed of seroxat.
As a child of the '70s, I wasn't especially aware of any Victorian overtones to my generation. Our Dads were always better than the next and there was, of course, the inevitable comparison of Grifter and Chopper. Beyond that,it seemed to me people largely kept their private life, well - private. I'm not just thinking of seamy boudoir practices here, although Dave Allen would have brushed his trouser leg with some disquiet had he been privy to the shenanigans of a certain Mr Brand. Nothing is sacred. For any self respecting messy-haired sex addict, the devil's in the detail. Lay it all bare, hold the mystique and peg out your dirty laundry for some easy press coverage and capacious book sales.
My coping mechanisms have become largely de sensitised to this exhibitionism and self publicising nonsense, yet I insist on the re reinstatement of one former taboo. Money. I never fail to be shaken by the brazen bragging which centres around salaries. My colleague was recently subjected to an unsolicited boast of a friend's new radio contract.
"50 thousand a year", she declared without a trace of self awareness or dignity.
In this era of globalisation, company turnovers, profit, share prices and other financial minutiae are inevitable, but the personal stuff - keep it personal. I don't want your coarse, vulgar and avaricious preening.
