| Tuesday, October 05, 2004 |
 | Many long months ago, I used to write for a site called Upsideclown. Although it is currently on a potentially limitless sabbatical, it had its moments, one of which was indubitably Ritchiegate. Available in more detail here, the short version of Ritchiegate is that one of the contributors sent in a short story on the tragic and wholly fictitious demise of Ritchie Neville, spawned from a discussion of the dangers of not bolting picnic tables to the floor in elevated pub gardens, namely that one might be thrown off and strike Ritchie Neville.
This turned up on Google, and a young fan of 5ive emailed in some confusion, begging us to set her mind at rest, as "Ritchie can't be dead".
Matt asked at the time why that should be - whether, for example, Ritchie was some sort of immortal Mesoamerican river god. Looking back on this, I sincerely hope he isn't. Because otherwise he has an eternity to spend pondering how fast a human being can go from having his pick of the fourth form to shovelling pigshit with Jade Goody's ex.
The true cruelty is that it says here he was the sensitive one. Unlucky.
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