I wrote an email to the newsroom of the Shropshire Star, my local newspaper the other day.
Seeing as they were all foaming and gushy about the new mascots for the 2012 Olympics being unveiled in the little village of Much Wenlock (just up the road from my house, incidentally) I thought, quite misguidedly, that if they like things that come from Telford and have potentially become world famous, they might like to have a copy of the press release we've been giving out to magazines for the World Goth Day articles you might see dotted about the 'tinterweb.
After all, the Olympic Mascots ('Wenlock' and whatever the other one is called) resemble a weird interbreeding between the T-2000 robot from Terminator 2 and the symptoms of bronchitis. But if they're willing to cover that, surely they must be suitably motivated enough to go out looking for another 'local man made good' story?
Apparently the answer to that is a resounding no. I heard exactly f*ck all from them.
Maybe I underestimated just how 'undergorund' the underground scene actually is. I'm completely immersed in the Goth scene, so my judgement of how important World Goth Day is to todays society may well be clouded.
Yes, I may be being cruel about the Olympic mascots, but equally I'm still sore about the amount of public money which went into the 2012 Olympics logo, which looks like one of those paintings you get when you give an elephant a brush and an easel, or as my good friend TJ Nexus once said, "...it looks like Lisa Simpson giving head".
Never mind. I'm quite happy to be living in a delusional state where World Goth Day is more important than the result of the General Election, a cure for cancer or finding out exactly what the f*ck is going on in the last episode of Ashes To Ashes.
I shan't be bothering the busy denizens of the Shropshire Star again; they're clearly to preoccupied with being on the starting blocks for the next big scoop.
After all, it's not every day that a local and quite nameless MP will be standing on the outskirts of some tattered third world Telford estate, needing desperately to be photographed pointing awkwardly at a pothole on a main road.
Sorry. My mistake. It is.