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Our Crack Little Crack

badnews.jpg Bad News
 

I was tasked with giving someone bad news last Friday and, although it was one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do in my adult life, it was something I knew I couldn’t put off any longer. Readers, I had to tell my mother-in-law that Philip Schofield is gay. I know. She’s always carried a torch for him and no matter how many times I’ve told her that he wouldn’t be interested in an overly belligerent seventy-something with an obsessive interest in bougainvilleas - not if she was the last woman on earth - she would never have it. (And, just to prolong the agony, she didn’t catch what I had said at first replying: “He’s come out as grey? But he’s been grey for years. There’s no stigma attached to it these days.”) When I finally made her understand it took her several seconds to compose herself. She then shut down the conversation with: “I thought that Brexit was supposed to put an end to all of this politically correct nonsense.” And that was that.