one For Sorrow
Apocalypse, Armageddon, the end is nigh…or so they say. I have to admit that until recently I had been quite dubious with this end of the world nonsense. It would take more than a bunch of lazy Mayans who couldn’t be bothered to finish their calendar to make me believe in the end of days. Even though Nostradamus himself and some virgin clairvoyant in ancient Rome had predicted it, I remained forever sceptical. .
And then what I can only describe as unthinkable, unthinkingly happened: Steps reunited! And I was made a believer.
There couldn’t have been a clearer sign that the destruction of the world as we know it was upon us. The unexpected reformation of this late 90s pop group was but the first of the four horses of the apocalypse finally rearing its ugly head.
As H, Lisa, Claire, Lee and Faye clapped their hands, got up and danced and stomped all night once again, I knew. I knew we were running out of time.
What other terrifying nightmare would we have to endure until it all came to an end? Would we see in the next twelve months the uprising of Disco? The revival of the mullet? The discovery that tea is actually bad for you when taken with scones? Richard and Judy’s return to daytime TV? Gary Barlow taking over Simon Cowell’s role as Britain most love to hate judges on the X factor? Wait! That’s already happened! How did we not see it? The unravelling of our reality has commenced.
Will the E.U collapse, borders being reinstated and forcing us all to return to our mothership, having to abandon loved ones, jamón and tortillas? Before our beloved Sovereign Majesty Queen Elisabeth II revokes the independence of America, by claiming that they’ve made enough of a twat of us all and that she should be in charge now with Kate as her Prime Minister which would then lead to WWIII that (in the nightmare scenario) the Great British Isles would lose and henceforth making U.S English proper English. And once enslaved by Texans, bowler hats would be replaced by cowboy hats, petrol by gasoline, crisps by potato chips, and worst of all colours by colours. I can see it all happening. I can smell the blasphemous ketchup on my fish and chips served by an overthrown Prince William in his apron and shower cap. I can see the London Eye being turned into a Warner Bros attraction, Westminster into a Baptist church, Stonehenge into a McDonald’s drive-through. I would have no other option but to hide in France, where a spastic newly re-elected Sarkozy would push the red button and blow us all into oblivion.
A year left to live doesn’t seem like much but as the Earth crust is not yet opening beneath our feet, there is no need yet to run naked in the streets begging the Almighty for mercy. I, for one, am off to buy the Steps Ultimate Collection CD, hoping that by doing so I might appease the Gods and buy us some more time before the inevitable happens.
