On 13 July 1985, I was at home on my own, watching Live Aid. The previous Christmas, the fading rock star Bob Geldof has been so appalled by the scenes of starvation in Africa, he produced a charity pop record featuring many stars of the day, Do They Know It’s Christmas?, in order to ‘feed the world’. Geldof didn’t feed the world, not all of it anyway, but at least the issue actually made the news and, many years later, governments around the world wrote off billions of pounds of third world debt.
Live Aid was shown on the BBC and captivated the nation. We watched open-mouthed as Geldof leered at the camera: ‘Don’t go to the pub tonight – please, stay in and give us the money. There are people dying NOW, so give me the money.’ We did, even those of us who didn’t have a pot to piss in. But all the time, I couldn’t help thinking: how come a bunch of multimillionaires were asking me to give them the money? If they felt that strongly about it, why not donate the money themselves?
I’d become even more cynical years later when it emerged Geldof had adopted non-dom status in the UK in order to avoid paying tax on his international earnings. So proud was he of his Irish roots, contributing to the Dublin exchequer was clearly a step too far. Unable to adopt non-dom status, I paid all the tax I had to and donated to charity when I could afford it. I had no fancy dan creative accountants, but then I had no money.
Whether it’s Comic Relief, Children In Need or any other major charity, we cannot avoid being asked for money by those who have loads of it. And during the current Covid-19 crisis, it’s all happening again.
The ghastly One World: Together At Home TV marathon – and it certainly felt like a marathon, even when I skipped through ‘highlights’ on You Tube – was awful. Dinosaurs like Elton John and the Rolling Stones, trundled out a few tainted classics, Paul McCartney gave us a weird version of Lady Madonna, following the usual brief lecture on how we should all love our doctors and nurses. You meant well, Paul, but I already fucking knew this. I understand only too well the incredible care workers’ efforts in looking after family members and friends, not always, despite their heroic efforts, successfully. And then there were Posh and Becks.
I didn’t see their part of the show and I am glad I didn’t. Much as I still like and admire David Beckham, the Posh and Becks act with his modestly talented wife Victoria leaves me cold. Following her lucrative career, despite her lack of singing ability, in the Spice Girls, Mrs Beckham started a lucrative fashion house and together with her husband she is worth £335 million. Whilst the celebs performing in One World were not begging from the public for money, £100 million was raised by corporate sponsors. Thanks, and all that, but please bear in mind that Mrs Beckham has furloughed 30 staff members from her fashion business. In other words, a couple worth £335 million are scrounging state money to pay their employees instead of using their own cash.
It’s not just the Beckhams, though, is it? On Thursday, we will get the Big Night In on the BBC. I would hope that the BBC does not employ the services, voluntarily given or not, of tax dodging toe-rags and rich people ripping off the taxpayer. I’m going to watch it, hopefully with an open mind, but I fear my thoughts will always turn to the very richest people telling the very poorest to give their money.
If anything positive comes out of the awful Covid-19 nightmare, it would be the state assuming more responsibility for looking out for the most vulnerable in society instead of leaving it to charities to pick up the slack. Shit shows like One World are not giving me any hope that will happen. And if Richard Branson shows up, I’ll kick the telly in.
