It happens, and my suggestion is that one back away from Skins's island, take a little vacation.
Back in summer 2008, I got so tired of the constant relentless Liebermann-hating there--I'm not sure why it bothered me, but it bothered me a great deal--that I took a few days off and drove up to North Dakota to see the country's smallest international airport. Just for the Hell of it; just to see what it looked like.
I haven't myself been to Skins's island for the past several days, not out of any sense of dismay or discouragement, but simply because it's very much like The Last Days of Hitler, where one's an invisible spectator to the weirdest, most grotesque, most lurid Wolkenkuckkuckensheim one can possibly imagine.
Lunatics can be entertaining, but after a while, one just wishes they'd hurry up and self-destruct.