17 September - Disasters & Ghost

There you go, I thought I was immune to marketing (not really immune but wise to it) and between reading in a Saturday’s paper an interview with Naomi Klein about her new book on the rise of disaster capitalism and being irresistibly drawn to in on Monday in the bookshop of the Tate… I was toast. I turned it round and it’s a whopping £25 for a ... book with no pictures.

Bear in mind as recently as last week I demurred and avoided spending £25 on a reduced (from £250) gorgeous dress at the Ghost sale on the grounds that it was a bit too ceremony/wedding guest style and I wouldn’t have reasons to wear it any day soon. And I was not in the mood to consider its usefulness next year or the following. Needless to say I have thought about it every day, the fabric alone was worth twice that, I could have shredded it and made window blinds if I didn’t want to wear it, they’d have been a touch of nouvel lace for all I care, and I must have been in a maddening African wind that sends you loco mood to say no to such a bargain. And I had H. urging me to get it from under the weight of her 6 or 7 incredibly cheap but totally beautiful outfits she was carrying about before spending, oh, only £90 or something.

So £25 for a book that will be out in paperback by the time I’ve read any more of it than the first few pages before deciding once again that life is too short to read theory and counter-theory and it will remain a beautiful but frankly useless purchase. Unless, unless I only open it carefully, read a bit of it, and repackage and give to a friend in a month’s time for his b’day. He won’t read it cover to cover either but will hopefully appreciate the gift as he positions it on top of the pile of other books he’s yet to read. Comfort book buying is at least not going to make you fat!. Mmmhh. I can totally blame how interesting Naomi’s interview was, how I envied her years of research and related travel and how young she looks for someone so clever. But mostly it was the bright highlighter yellow cover that I liked looking at. It was a grey lunchtime during which I heard harrowing tales of a friend’s life (more about that later) and yellow was the colour of my … fantasy ife out there, where I contribute something by changing the whole world of baddies who profit from other people’s misfortunes by exposing them and … and what? Simply denouncing shit is perpetrated doesn’t mean they stop doing it. I mean, movies don’t do it, books don’t do it (or maybe I have to skip to the last chapters and see what Naomi recommends), popstars don’t do it. Mhh, yes I will be well informed and more outraged and £25 poorer. I’ve been marketed!