I, like many of you, spent the weekend reading and listening to reports about the latest headline-grabbing scandal.
Unlike many of you, I am very familiar with the key player, Leonard Peetlemen. Of course, when I say very familiar, I mean I know him, I’ve had dinner with him, have been to his home. I am familiar with him, but not in the coochie-coochie way, if that’s what you’re driving at.
Leonard or, as the papers have dubbed him “Mr Peetlemen,” seems to have got himself embroiled in what is becoming a typical disgrace of the financially secure: tax evasion and an accountant who’s been running some money-making scheme with an unnamed footballer. Plus it turns out the accountant is a prostitute who got a gastic band on the NHS and has been selling blood for oil to Kony (2012) as well.
I shan’t be defending him here: I always found him very likeable, but he is, of course, just a man, with the vulnerabilities and failings (premature ejaculation) of any other man. Whether he got involved due to selfish greed or stupid ignorance, he must now face the consequences of the 
decisions he’s made.
Everyday on the news we see people whom we previously viewed as monuments of success and dedication crumble into piles of shameful, useless pebbles and dust. Many respond with angry exclamations of “Give ‘em what he deserves” while others surrender to a sort of que sera, sera attitude.
I try not to judge the mighty when they fall, because I’m concerned that these issues are indicative of a larger problem—something inherently wrong with our society, perhaps our very souls. What this fault is I have yet to determine, but you’ll be the first to know when I get it figured out.
Agatha’s Public Chimes In