This week's topic is probably not going to win me too many fans, but then collecting fans was never the intention of my column and so I shall remain true to its title and continue to think out loud, leaving you free as always to think what you like.
Like most of you, it was Thursday when I heard that New Zealand cricketer Martin Crowe had died.
There aren't too many sports codes that I can honestly say I am a fan of but cricket has always been a game I've enjoyed, so naturally I was sad but only briefly. Then, as much as I hate to admit it, I was just overcome with a sense of dread at what was to come.
The constant barrage of media headlines, the repeat footage of career highlights, the demand for a public memorial or three, the public displaying of tweets from around the world, sports and celebrity columnists cashing in on their own personal recollections and reflections, live funeral feeds and the first 10-15 minutes of TV news bulletins focused just on this one story.
If the deceased happens to be a TV/film star we are inevitably tortured by repeat screenings of their work, more out of obligation than burning desire.
It's all become so bloody cliche and predictable. Death on autopilot.
Having just barely recovered from Jonahgate, I really wanted to escape and emerge when it was finally over.
Maybe it's just me but I simply don't understand this bizarre notion that, in death, anyone with a hint of celebrity or stardom must be placed on a pedestal and martyred and/or revered in some way, to the point where goings-on in the rest of the world just seem to be suspended in time as we drown in some morbid oversaturation of a single story.
We even go as far as preparing for it where possible. News of terminal illness usually gets the ball rolling. We saw it with Paul Holmes and Martin Crowe. For both, their careers were pretty much over, neither had been knighted even after retiring and making significant contributions to their chosen fields, but the mere hint of an early demise and suddenly wheels are put in motion to ensure every accolade possible comes their way ... like a tacky afterthought or some type of sympathetic consolation prize to help convince ourselves we've done right by them.
I can't remember which number service it was for Lomu, I was kind of over it after the second one, but I remember cringing at the largely empty Eden Park. The almost arrogant assumption that his fan base was great enough to fill this vast venue gave me hope that others shared my thoughts.
I don't mean to come off as insensitive, any loss of life is a truly sad event but it's also an intensely personal time for true family and friends, a time where privacy has a place regardless of how public the figure.
This force-feeding of funerals and death-following goes a step too far for my liking. The media saturation of these events has grown so great that escaping it is virtually impossible. Media wrongly assume that celebrity status means the entire country must be in mourning. This diet of death complete with its creepy live feeds is not to everyone's taste, let alone in good taste.
The story may be about a death but you don't need to flog it to death. Am I alone in my thoughts? Your feedback is welcome: investik8@gmail.com
¦Kate Stewart is a politically incorrect columnist who does not suffer fools but does suffer the occasional bout of hayfever.
