There are times when mere words are insufficient. There are times when reflecting on the genius of Bach, or Pasteur, or Sequoyah is not enough to help me hope that maybe, just maybe, the human race deserves to survive.
This is one of those times. We will speak, if you will, of the colour indigo. It is an attractive colour, one of my favourites. It is soothing: it recalls the colour of the sea on a sunny day, the sky as night draws on, the rainbow after a deluge. It is cool: it looks good on suede shoes, all the way up to the occasional lunatic spiky hairstyle (it matches my eyes, OK?).
Despite Douglas Adams’ jokes about superintelligent shades of the colour blue, however, it has no healing powers whatsoever. Mystical or otherwise. This is the Bullshit Zone. This, if you like, is where we exceed the speed of pure, unadulterated WTF in a vacuum. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:
Ok, let’s not beat about the bush: it’s homeopathy. As such they already score pretty high on the oh-jesus-wept-are-these-guys-serious scale, which goes from zero to any infinity you like in just about any direction you like, except normality. They’re selling sugar, lactose, water and alcohol as expensive remedies for various ailments, real or imagined.