For many years, I was never quite sure what bathos was. It was just one of those words, like schadenfreude and Machiavellian, whose precise meaning hovered just beyond my reach. Maybe you don't get much of it till your 30s.
Last night I had to turn down an offer of two 'golden circle' tickets to Live8 because of my tonsilitis. (No, that's not bathos.) I then had to miss a gig by the Hellset Orchestra, and go to bed just as the party started when everyone got back, also because of my tonsilitis. (Not bathos either).
M was so hungover that I was in the better state this morning, so I cooked breakfast for five, then the resilient young people headed off to enjoy their day, and the invalid and the hungover one retreated to the sofa and huddled under a blanket to watch Live8 on TV.
There was a little frisson when old Bob came rambling out to ramble on a bit, and then, bloody hell, Bill Gates! Now that's impressive. The richest man in the world endorsed the exercise and said some moving things about how we know what to do and we've got the money to do it, now let's just make the decisions that mean it can be done.
Yes! we all cheered. Go Bill! Go us! Make Poverty History!
Thanks, he said. And now... I would like to introduce... Dido.
That was bathos, wasn't it? I said. Oh yes, said M.
joella
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