HyperBollockery

As the financial thing continues on-and-on, columnists are having to dig deeper to unearth fresh similes, references and metaphors, but it seems that the strain of working so deep in the word mine, hacking away at dictionaries, quoteries and, errr that's enough of that, has begun to send some columnists mad.

Simon Jenkins, in the Grauniad, is like some jaded Roman emperor, bored with the usual sexual excesses, the orgies of metaphors and the incestous use of references but still he seeks something yet more exotic, to make his column stand up, witness the sheer baudelairesque depravity of this lede ;

"The barbarians are at the gates. Towers are falling, people are screaming, temple economists are rending their garments, gibbering with dread. And where is the prince at this time of trouble? He is walking in the garden of heavenly delight, feeding the sacred crocodiles. Here there is no credit crunch, only fountains tinkling money. While the ­citizens starve, the precious ones are fed. On them the gods will always shine."

and on it rolls....panjandrums.... Money streams down gilded rivulets into the pockets of consultants...Lord Coe, vestal virgin on this acropolis, is purring with pleasure...

But it serves its purpose to point up the babylonic excesses of the olympics.