Mr Grumpy....12th March, 2020

Despite what they did to her, the media loved Princess Diana. All over the world. 
To be fair, the Botswana Bugle and Hiroshima Herald generally just printed pictures of her looking lovely and smiley, and shaking someone’s hand, and it was only really the UK lot that hounded her in pursuit of a “juicy” angle and photo. It was ultimately one such pursuit through a French tunnel that killed her. 
That gave the media the ultimate “Di” headline (“she’s dead”), albeit most didn’t print the ultimate photos (but were sure tempted) and lived off the whole glorious story — from first love to Elton John warbling as they threw the soil over her. Even now it’s worth a good few hours and column inches each year: good old dogs never die.
We love drama over here, love the opportunity to stress ourselves, panic, drama, controversy and generally blowing things out of proportion, ideally including someone’s private life and how much money they have. 
We loved the “recession” so much we made it worse by inventing the opposite of panic-buying: not buying anything that couldn’t be bought from B&M Bargains — cars, carpets, houses, anything with a purchase price of over a fiver stayed on the shelves, so bricklayers, car salesmen and restaurants that thought scampi was for peasants went through a tough time. Cheap, cheap, cheap, and ideally have it delivered to your home so the local shops got buggered too.
Thus, Christmas came early and we now have coronavirus. Don’t we love it? Wall to wall on the telly, in the Press, on the radio. The word “perspective” is outnumbered by “hand sanitiser” a billion to one. 
Even bog roll is in short supply: do you think you’re gonna shit yourself to death? And is a 99p face mask (from B&M) — like you might use if you were sanding down an entire oak tree in the confines of a small tent — gonna save you? Get real. And why are you buying up all the pasta? Is the plan to bung up your arse with the stuff?
The chances of you getting this virus are slim. You are more likely to get run over while you blab to your equally brainless mate while crossing the road: “Congleton Chat says they have some handsoap at Morrison’s! I’m on my way – shall I get you 20 tubs?” You’re more likely to die from an ingrowing toenail or earache.
I was at a meeting of supposedly intelligent people the other day when I sneezed — into my tightly cupped hands, of course, ’cos I is a gentleman — and half the room recoiled in horror as if I’d just projectile-vomited (Exorcist style) across the table. Get real, guys!
Likewise, I was at a Grumpy plc site the other day and one of my guys greeted a visitor with an outstretched hand who, instead of accepting it, rudely said: “Do you really think that is appropriate / responsible?” 
My guy politely said: “I’m perfectly happy to shake your hand, Sir, but totally understand that you may not.”
I was at the Manchester United match on Sunday (corporate — unsubtle bribe!) and as we walked up the stairs, I could hear people saying, “Don’t put your hand on the rail!” Just fall down the stairs then, you thick idiot! 

“I’ll have the pasta and some garlic bog roll please.”

I saw only one person with a mask on (obviously a City fan) and suspect he got his head kicked in when he went to the bogs (to steal the bog roll?)
This morning, Piers Morgan was talking to a couple of moaning minnies locked up on a cruise ship where there had been an outbreak, so they were quarantined. 
They played a perfectly reasonable announcement from the ship’s captain, but were moaning that “they’d heard absolutely nothing from the Government!” Cue shock from Piers. Eh? Were they expecting a call from Boris promising to send them some pasta, bog roll and hand wipes in case they touched each other? Honestly! Grow up. Stop moaning. Get real and get it into perspective. 
You all wanted the Government to bail out Thomas Cook, but you’re happy to destroy the travel industry by cancelling your cottage in Cornwall, let alone fly anywhere.
There was a piece on the radio where larger companies were suggesting people who could work from home (as I have today) should do so as much as possible. Logical, I guess, but next up is a lorry driver who called in to say: “And who’s gonna drive my truck?” Well, logically my friend — no-one. 
If you think because you’re sat in the cab of a 10-tonne articulated lorry on the M6 and the guy overtaking in his Volvo sneezing as he drives past is gonna kill you, you deserve to die of stupidity or at least be locked up, because you’re not safe to be out without a trained dog handler. 
You really think the Government should pay for you to stay at home? Want a personal cheque from Boris? Honestly, get back to telling Jeremy Kyle you miss his intelligent conversation and informative social commentary.
One of my supposedly intelligent colleagues was in Germany last week and picked up a hire car and asked if it had ever been to Italy … and then refused to take it because they couldn’t be sure.
And getting back to panic-buying pasta … Eh? If you heard people were panic-buying Ferraris, would you immediately remortgage your house to get the last one before your neighbour did? Use your brains!
Next up, the release of the new James Bond film (complete with totally crappy theme song by some teenager called Bobby Irish or something) has been put back several months because (if truth be told) audiences will be smaller if it comes out soon, as planned. 
The irony! The audience loves watching the big tough guy beat up the big tough baddies after chasing them in his Aston Martin … but are scared of parking their Nissans and Toyotas outside the cinema and going in to catch a cold from the not-so-tough guy sat next to them.
A nation of arse-wiping wimps with no perspective. Is this what our forefathers died for in the war? Get real. 
Or get a life and stop this mad planet so I can get off it.