I have been reading with some amusement the kicking dished out to young Max Gogarty, son of freelance journalist Paul Gogarty. The poor chap apparently got a spot on The Guardian blog entirely on his own merits but all sorts of nasty folk have suggested that his dad pulled a few strings.
Naturally I'm not aware of exactly what criteria are used by The Guardian when choosing to hire writers, however I would have thought an ability to write in an entertaining way would have been near the top of the list. Sadly poor Max is only marginally more intelligent than Paris Hilton and nowhere near as talented. It's hardly surprising folk thought nepotism was involved, either that or young Max has been sucking the right cocks. It cannot by any stretch of the imagination have had anything to do with his ability to write.
Of course various folk have been whining about class hatred and the like. I for one couldn't care less what social class young Max comes from. He could be Zara Phillips for all it interests me. The fact is that a boy with no discernible talent was given a cushy job on a paper that his dad has written for on occasion. That is bound to arouse suspicion, if the customers of the paper don't like that then they have every right to complain.
When I first read the article I thought Max was just an average teenage buffoon. Now that he's set his dad on us all I want to poke his eyes out. Old man Gogarty informs us that Max is actually a very talented writer but has chosen not continue with the blog because people have been so mean to him. What a big girls blouse. If I were him I'd have carried on, if only to piss off my detractors. Then again I've actually had to work for things in life and as a result have been forced to spend a fair bit of time in unpleasant situations until I could afford to move on. Whilst I'm sure hiding behind daddy must be very nice it doesn't do much to build one's character. Frankly I fear for Max.
As if the whole debacle wasn't laughable enough one writer at The Guardian has compared what happened to Max to the cultural revolution. Jesus wept! Why not go the whole hog and compare it to the holocaust? It would only be a baw hair more offensive.
Quite apart from anything else what is so fascinating about a middle class 19 year old travelling to Thailand and India like millions of others before him? From what he tells us in his column he appears to be going for the booze, the drugs and the girls. Quite how this differs from a load of call centre workers going off to Agia Napa for a bender has never been adequately explained. I can't bear these pompous twats who think they are a cut above the average tourist for no reason other than their choice of destination. Hopping on a plane to India, immunised against the local infections with a bag full of anti-malaria pills, then booking into a hotel recommended by the Rough Guide is not a unique experience. It's a well trodden path. He'd get more of a culture shock in Blackpool-well actually he probably would.
I don't blame Max for having an over-inflated sense of his own importance, nor his parents for encouraging him but there was no valid reason for The Guardian to encourage him in his delusions. Anyway this is one sorry tale that appears to have a happy ending Max has taken the huff with the entire media and won't be getting involved again leaving a vacancy at The Guardian for someone with a bit of talent.