Norman Parkinson

I just saw this advertisement, for an exhibition of the work of Norman Parkinson, on Jeffrey Archer's Blogspot ("We Authors", don't you know!) and thought to myself that I can actually remember when women dressed like that but where did they all go - or, where did it all go wrong?

I mean, one minute, we are the greatest civilization on earth and the next we have become, roughly in order: beatniks, hippies,rockers, mods, punk rockers, goths and street rappas: each incarnation of 'pop' being lower and more vile than the last; thanks to idiots such as the walking corpse Andy Warhola and those 'artists' who: exhibit corpses; pile up bricks; or tin and label 'the artist's excreta' or, in the case of Tracy Emmins, scrunch up their dirty linen, for us to stare at in 'art' galleries. And it all takes place to a brain-damaging, wall-thumping, cacophany, called muzac, given to us by talentless, breast-wiggling, pelvis-grinding, near-naked female tarts and a host of scruffy, male plonkers, selected and promoted by money-grubbing morons on gutter-level 'telly' programmes.

What a shame that we 'lost it'.