Queen's Baton

OK, I'm done. I cannot take anymore. I nearly cracked in 2012 over the ballyhoo for the Olympic Torch but the Queen's Baton has now pushed me over the edge. Have we all lost our fucking marbles here? Are we now under Cameron's benign nothingness transported backwards and  living in the 13th Century or the Dark Ages or something? How is it that a plain, inanimate object, a stylised golden baton in fact, can inspire crowds, lead baffled celebrations, hysterical responses, bring out brass bands and hot dog vendors and cause inappropriate expense and media attention across the so-called Commonwealth. Are people so desperate for some spiritual experience that they'll gather together and blindly follow this tin wedge of an item on it's busman's holiday across the globe and bits of Wild West Lothian? 

Well yes of course they will. You almost expect the sick and feeble, the poor and the infirm to be wheeled out by grinning social workers and activists so they can bathe in it's quasi-religious presence and so be inspired to compete in running, jumping and swimming competitions or more usefully be divinely healed and freed up from their compulsive personalities and attention seeking demons. It's just a gold stick FFS and this is the twenty first century. Stop acting like Saxon morons with pitchforks and straw sucking village idiots and take a good look at yourself. This is a meaningless charade that only exists to promote a puerile sporting competition, eh? OK, now I'm really done...back to the World Cup and a tin of golden, chilled to perfection lager in front of the TV.