In a scene that could have been lifted from a particularly unhinged episode of Black Mirror, a horde of overexcited fans, driven by what can only be described as a collective psychotic break, stampeded through a set of glass doors in pursuit of a star from the telly-box spectacle 'Pursuit of Jade'. The doors, which were presumably installed as a futile gesture towards social distancing or indeed any form of security, shattered into a thousand glittering would-be shards of lacerations. The event, held in a British leisure complex that shall remain nameless to protect the innocent (and the guilty marketing team), has left security protocols in bits.
Literally. The mob, apparently mistaking the glass barrier for a suggestion rather than an architectural feature, surged forward like lemmings on Red Bull. A spokesperson for the venue, who we suspect will shortly be updating their CV, claimed that 'additional barriers have been introduced'.
One can only assume they've ordered more glass. The star in question, no doubt thrilled to have escaped the ordeal with only a mild case of PTSD and a renewed faith in the human species' ability to disappoint, has since issued a statement thanking 'the dedicated security team for their swift response'. Swift as an iceberg, perhaps.
The incident has sparked a predictably furious debate about the state of event security in Britain, with pundits pointing fingers like a spastic conga line of blame. But ask yourselves, dear readers: what hope is there for a society that values celebrity autographs over basic self-preservation? The glass shattered because our collective fetishisation of fame has become so brittle, so desperate, that even a pane of reinforced glass cannot withstand the pressure.
We're not just breaking doors anymore. We're breaking the very fabric of public decency. And I, for one, am off to find a gin and tonic from a vending machine, because that's about the level of innovation I expect from this country now.
