Larry King, with the McCartneys who are protesting the impending seal hunt, and Danny Williams, the Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador, there to give the official response.
It is anything but a calm and reasoned debate.
I don’t know if this is what Paul McCartney had in mind for his golden years when he wrote When I’m 64, which he will be this coming June:
A young wife with a rather hefty axe to grind who seems to be taking him along for a bumpy, chilly ride. He can hardly keep up.
He looks confused, and hardly bothers to get a word in – I suppose by now he knows better.
She, on the other hand, isn’t shy to harass both Larry King and the Premier of Newfoundland (or as Larry pronounces it, New Finland).
Saying her piece is one thing, but she hardly lets anyone else say theirs particularly if it goes against her claims. She shrieks, whines and talks right over everyone else.
I don’t know much about the seal hunt, never did get too worked up about it one way or the other... but if I had to make up my mind solely from the Larry King Show this evening, I would side with those who sound well-informed and rational and that is not Heather McCartney.
Paul does have a few things to say, mostly that the annual seal hunt is a blight on the reputation of the Canadian people.
Well maybe so but I’d worry more about other blights on our reputation. We need look no further than the recent federal election with regard to the behaviour of some of our officials and the sleaziness of some of the issues involved.
I'd also worry more about our soldiers being killed and injured in Afghanistan than about the seals, who, even the McCartneys had to admit, are not presently endangered.
I don’t know what gives these rock stars the idea that they can come in here and tell us what to do – but at least Bono seems to have his facts in order, is respectful and never ever comes across as out of his depth, reading from a script.
Paul, you should have married me instead.
I could be handy mending a fuse when your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside,
Sunday mornings, go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?