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On the day of the birth of Prince George Anaconda Flange-Triptych D'Steel Wheels Windsor-Battenburgcake or whatever the tyke's name is, I along with what I suspect was actually a majority of the populace were more than slightly annoyed at the meeja feeding frenzy over this non-event, and took little or no notice. I did laugh when they referred to "The crowds outside Buckingham Palace", which must have numbered...ooh...tens.
Entering into the spirit of the occasion, starting early in the morning on the day of the Second Coming, I posted a trio of bon mots informing the world (well, my 14 friends on Farcebook, at any rate) that there was a "Woman, Pregnant", and later a "Woman still pregnant", and when finally the Goddamn Miracle Of The Gilded Getoutofmyfuckingsightyouuselesswasteofspace Shouting At Husband Spectacular happeneth; "Woman gives birth", elaborated with "Ginger afterbirth eats nurse!" This is of course essential information that everyone must be endlessly informed of until they die of ennui....zzzz....
It seems no less than lawyer's friend Mr Ian Hislop has nicked my joke, judging by this billboard, snapped yesterday.
As someone has already said to me; try and sue him, just try! :)
Now, let's be clear on this, I'm no Republican, as it is fairly self-evident that The Royle Family bring in more in tourist income alone than the £40m or so they cost the public purse every year. Just ask any Japanese or American tourist, at least those over 40, or in other words, the ones with the money, why they're in London, and I guarantee you one of the items on The Itinerary is to go and gawp at Jim Royle in Buck House so they can send the pics home of Uncle Jim-Bob keeping his over-stuffed gut out of profile in front of said Victorian pile. I will admit there probably aren't many Japanese blokes called Jim-Bob, and why they seem equally obsessed with our bunch of undeserving privileged Germans is beyond me, given that they have their own version of royalty and attendant daft outmoded class system back home.
Digression is my middle name...no, I ain't no Republican, but the saturation coverage given to this rather common natural phenomenon was enough to get me to seriously consider joining the ranks of the revolutionaries, until some bloke fronting a Republican group appeared on BBC Breakfast to rightly criticise the Beeb's OTT coverage. I have never seen such a determined miserablist, well, not since I saw Joy Division at a wrist slicing ceremony in Accrington in 1978, at any rate. What do these dour sods do for fun one wonders?
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It's a summer of sporting triumph for Team GB (especially the Siff Iffricun branch). Dull Scottish bloke wins tennis match, which was actually rather good considering how he stuffed the favourite against probably even his own expectations. The British & Irish Lions won a dwarf-throwing competition Down Under. It's always good to stuff the Aussies, especially on their own turf, but I paid no attention, as Rugger is a sport that breeds indifference in me like no other.
Then we had another Afro-Brit, this time Kenyan by way of a Siff Iffricun education, winning Le Tour in spectacular fashion. And, he did it on a bicycle, would you believe!
Of course, the real action is ongoing with our stolen Siff Iffricuns showing those Aussies how it's done (again) in the crikit. Having appropriated some of South Africa's finest sporting talent as our own, it is ironic that the real tests of how good we are both at rugby and cricket will probably come when we play...South Africa!
Oh, and we didn't win The Open Golf wassname, but golf is merely a right wing talking shop and an excuse for a piss up that is only played by odious salesmen and middle management types, masquerading as a sport, and of course a waste of good countryside, so I care not a jot.
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It's no longer unbearably hot, so I'm off to put some clothes on and clean that nasty stain off the carpet.
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Finally, finally...I know most of you consider, perhaps rightly, who knows, that most of the music I bang on about in my other list of scribblings is akin to a choir of Ornette Colemans playing kazoos, but if you like yer rawk, you cannot fail to like this righteous racket. If you do find this unpleasant you really need to take your ears to the doctors...
Ifangyewandgudnite.....
