When you use the widest possible circles of British public at your own expense, as an involuntary psychotherapists*,

∙ smearing yourself with your [quite pricey] grief and outrage,

∙ moaning about your evil elder brother and his similarly pernicious wife (girlfriend at the time) who “forced” 20-something-year old you to put on a Nazi uniform “just for kicks” (or so you say: because, apparently, you are *that* simple for making up your own mind),

∙ giving the audience quite graphic and nauseating details about losing your virginity “with an older woman behind a barn” (nobody asked for it and expected to hear about it on the news),

∙ begging your Papa not to marry that other woman, because she becomes “a wicked Stepmother,”

∙ whining that you were hit by your brother, which left bruises “all over you,”

∙ and, the worst of them all, to trade the name of your late mother as if she’s some sort of cryptocurrency

—you turn yourself into an obscene and putrid clown. Off you go. You stink.

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*and for that, I mean the “breaking” segment in the evening news on pretty much all the main channels in the country