If there are any things more frightening than the prospect of losings one’s loved ones to the Corona Virus they are the prospects of Bono getting the Nobel Prize for Peace and Bob Geldof getting the Nobel Prize for Medicine.
Frightening certainly, but perhaps not inappropriate. For it seems that Alfred Nobel was an ego-tripper to rival that pair of solipsist, painful, haemorrhoids.
Nobel read his own obituary, prematurely if not hopefully, printed, by a hostile editor, which criticised him for making fortunes out of death. A prolific inventor, Nobel had created dynamite, and, having inherited the thriving Bofors iron-works from his father, converted it into a major gun-manufacturer and amassed millions more.
So he established the Nobel Prizes so that his name would be honoured forever after his demise.
My first view of Bono was on the Live Aid Concert in 1985, when I took an instant dislike to him. His laying hands on fans as if he was curing lepers might have been forgivable in a Monty Python skit. To this none too pious a sinner ,it looked blasphemous, with not a trace of irony. Thirty five years on I have come to dislike Bono at least a hundred times more
At the time I believed that Geldof was motivated by pity and concern for suffering humanity. He may have been then. But it seems to kiss or be kissed by Bob Geldof has unhappy consequences for young women. It also appears that the money donated by millions of us in good faith was passed to a dictator who used the money to fasten his grip on power and not to feed his starving millions. Geldof is reckoned to have a personal fortune of $150,000,000. He pontificates on subjects he has not given even a few hours study to, and denigrates men such as Connolly and Pearse, who did not share his laziness, ignorance, his worship of wealth, appetite for flattery, and abhorrence of soap and water.
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