Thinking of Sir Trevor
I’ve found myself thinking about Sir Trevor McDonald lately. Not in a sexual way, you understand; it’s all perfectly innocent, if confusing. It’s just that the retired ITV news anchor keeps popping in and making little stealth attacks on my mind. If I wanted to concentrate my thoughts on a particular person, Sir Trevor would come fairly low on my list. Still, this burgeoning preoccupation has been occurring almost daily for the last few weeks. It seems most acute when I’ve been watching television in the evening, particularly during commercial breaks. Sometimes I think about Dermot Murnaghan or John Suchet too, but for the most part it’s Sir Trevor and his big avuncular face and Trinidadian cadence that has been preoccupying me.
Thankfully, I think I’ve finally figured it out and the root of this obsession seems to be more Pavlovian than Lacanian. It’s all down to a series of irritating Ford Fusion commercials that. Listen carefully to the music.
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