It matters not one jot that sales of super cars are slow. I laugh at the pause in penthouses prices and giggle at the glut of Gucci. When Bollinger’s broke and Tattinger goes belly up I shall but titter. They mean nothing.
But today’s news is far from frightening (this alliteration thing takes some shaking off), it is devastating.
I’m an optimist by nature, a half-full kinda guy (as our American friends say) and I don’t panic easily.
I didn’t predict the end of the world when bankers stole our savings before holding us to ransom. I didn’t scream in terror when flu-ridden birds from Asia migrated to Britain or hide under the duvet when the pig population spread their own pandemic.
In short – I’m shockproof. That is I was until today.
When I learned fake tan sales had dropped by a whopping 21 per cent I knew we were in serious trouble.
Restaurants in Alderley have lighting systems dependent upon the ambient glow from a veritable orangery of diners. Are they now to operate in the dark? You can’t replace that amount of wattage overnight.
We’re looking at Armageddon here. You’re probably not going to recognise your own spouse. It’ll be like living in a rest home where no one remembers anyone.
Contrary to popular opinion the future’s not bright. The future is ricotta.
