Big Brother really is a pile of yack this year, isn't it? Worse than ever before, I reckon. Young women frantically studying WAGology and celebrity tag-ons musing their minges off about the testosterone stampede than inevitably awaits them when they're released from the house. I had to laugh at Johnaton last night; intelligent capitalist geezer with brown eyes - he thinks he has the dim-witted twins sussed - that they are a shrewd marketing duo playing with the public's head. After all, they can't be that thick & at University? The twins hadn't a breeze what he was talking about when he broached their game-plan in the bathroom. They reverted to all things pink and giggled. "Genius!" he said, smiling. He really doesn't get it. Millionaires often don't.
The collective light-headedness is repetitive to the extreme. Tracey is a cool geezer-girl, Carol is at least adult even if more boring than her audition tape suggested, Laura is bright too and Johnaton is a breath of fresh air. The remnants should've been guarded from birth by trampoline-strength condoms. Did you ever hear anything 'loike' that bug-brain Brian: "I loike kinda loike going shopping en stuff", when asked what he does with his life. "I'm just loike an ordinary geezer, gettin' pissed en stuff." Rock on. Billi looks like a ghoul from the Rocky Horror Show, who pays for coconut baths and has taken the art of self-absorption to new frightening highs. And the grotesque way the new men are commodifying the totty in the house makes me gag. "There's no-one left to getta hold ov en ere", said scholar Brian.
I have to admit that it was also a culture shock when I left Pope-licking Ireland in 1988 for London. For a while I was mute and uncommunicative out of pure shock. I remember thinking, "it can't be this way, it can't be this easy?" Everything in Ireland was stiff and rigid like a Bishop's knob. There were no jobs, no prospects, no hope. In London the employment agencies were spuing down with jobs; they did exactly what it said on the tin. I took the first one that came along and just sat in silence listening to the office chat; mostly it was moans about money, new paint colours, car insurance (young people had cars!), divorce, costa holidays, sex, jewellery. There was such similitude in the national psyche that all the women came back to work after X-mass with the same present (albeit with some amount of variability): gold dolphins. Sold en masse in H. Samuel at the time I was convinced Margaret Thatcher had bugged the proletariat with these dinky gold dolphins to see what was really going on in the furtive underground of chav Britain. "Oh, you got the Dolphin earrings, gorgeous, I got loike, the loike, dolphin anklet.... and Gillian got the Dolphin necklace".
University was of course moderately different, the people were more zany, fucked up, interesting.... a Muslim mate who ran away from her four abusive brothers, a posh cider-swigging girl from Devon, a homeless Brighton girl who hadn't seen her family in six years, Richard who often slept in wheelie bins, a Vasectomy from Sheffield, a right-wing lesbian who changed her surname to 'Queen' & denounced all men including her son, etc etc etc. I had a ball, ate drugs, got seduced by a woman under a fish tank in Tottenham (tellingly, she's now a professional actress), fell in love with a Sikh man who'd been married and gay and a cocaine addict all at the same time. Life was colourful even if somewhat confusing. It was a jumble of materialism and mayhem, but compared to Ireland, it was a piss in the right direction.
Now, I thank my fluky stars I didn't stay on and have a kid there. What is accessible in terms of infrastructure, ethnicity, work, opportunity, equality, etc., is all great, but the "culture" is totally barmy. If little girls can grow up to believe that being an adjunct to a brainless footballer's cock is a career, and young men believe that going shopping in the local multiplex and shaving their balls on a Thursday night [Brian alluded to this in last night's BB episode] constitutes the modern world, bring back the Blitz, the miner's strikes & the race riots of the 1980s. Anything has to be better than this brand of barrenness?
The collective light-headedness is repetitive to the extreme. Tracey is a cool geezer-girl, Carol is at least adult even if more boring than her audition tape suggested, Laura is bright too and Johnaton is a breath of fresh air. The remnants should've been guarded from birth by trampoline-strength condoms. Did you ever hear anything 'loike' that bug-brain Brian: "I loike kinda loike going shopping en stuff", when asked what he does with his life. "I'm just loike an ordinary geezer, gettin' pissed en stuff." Rock on. Billi looks like a ghoul from the Rocky Horror Show, who pays for coconut baths and has taken the art of self-absorption to new frightening highs. And the grotesque way the new men are commodifying the totty in the house makes me gag. "There's no-one left to getta hold ov en ere", said scholar Brian.
I have to admit that it was also a culture shock when I left Pope-licking Ireland in 1988 for London. For a while I was mute and uncommunicative out of pure shock. I remember thinking, "it can't be this way, it can't be this easy?" Everything in Ireland was stiff and rigid like a Bishop's knob. There were no jobs, no prospects, no hope. In London the employment agencies were spuing down with jobs; they did exactly what it said on the tin. I took the first one that came along and just sat in silence listening to the office chat; mostly it was moans about money, new paint colours, car insurance (young people had cars!), divorce, costa holidays, sex, jewellery. There was such similitude in the national psyche that all the women came back to work after X-mass with the same present (albeit with some amount of variability): gold dolphins. Sold en masse in H. Samuel at the time I was convinced Margaret Thatcher had bugged the proletariat with these dinky gold dolphins to see what was really going on in the furtive underground of chav Britain. "Oh, you got the Dolphin earrings, gorgeous, I got loike, the loike, dolphin anklet.... and Gillian got the Dolphin necklace".
University was of course moderately different, the people were more zany, fucked up, interesting.... a Muslim mate who ran away from her four abusive brothers, a posh cider-swigging girl from Devon, a homeless Brighton girl who hadn't seen her family in six years, Richard who often slept in wheelie bins, a Vasectomy from Sheffield, a right-wing lesbian who changed her surname to 'Queen' & denounced all men including her son, etc etc etc. I had a ball, ate drugs, got seduced by a woman under a fish tank in Tottenham (tellingly, she's now a professional actress), fell in love with a Sikh man who'd been married and gay and a cocaine addict all at the same time. Life was colourful even if somewhat confusing. It was a jumble of materialism and mayhem, but compared to Ireland, it was a piss in the right direction.
Now, I thank my fluky stars I didn't stay on and have a kid there. What is accessible in terms of infrastructure, ethnicity, work, opportunity, equality, etc., is all great, but the "culture" is totally barmy. If little girls can grow up to believe that being an adjunct to a brainless footballer's cock is a career, and young men believe that going shopping in the local multiplex and shaving their balls on a Thursday night [Brian alluded to this in last night's BB episode] constitutes the modern world, bring back the Blitz, the miner's strikes & the race riots of the 1980s. Anything has to be better than this brand of barrenness?
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