I am not much good at idolatry. I regard Nelson Mandela as less than a god, though I can see his merits such as dignity, old age and a talent for conciliation. Neither have I been carried away by Oscar Pistorius, said to be the second most admired South African, perhaps because I place athletic prowess rather low on the scale of human accomplishment. In my heart of hearts I even find the adulation accorded him bizarre, tasteless, dishonest and emotionally kitsch: but one is not allowed to say so. 

I nevertheless found the reports of his appearance in court on a charge of having murdered his girlfriend fascinating, more for what they told us about ourselves and our society than for what they told us about him.