I must have missed the 24/7 prattling on every TV channel about the old dear and how marvelous she is. About how lovely the Duchess of Cambridge is with a swishy hair and her big white teeth. Blah blah blah. I must have missed all those sodding ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ slogans spaffed across every object with white space on it that have sporned THIS abomination.
No, really, I challenge you to get through a day without seeing one. Today I have been treated to:
- Keep Calm and Grow a Mustache
- Keep Calm and Buy Stuff (fucking hell)
- Keep Calm and .....Be Yourself (foul!)
How about ‘Keep Calm and Gouge You Eyes Out With A Spoon’?
Keep Calm and Cunt Off, I say.
Seriously. Could I be any more bored of hearing about it?
No I fucking couldn’t.
To be honest I do actually really like the Queen, she’s a real brick and to be given the utmost R.E.S.P.E.C.T. People ought to listen to her sort a bit more often. It’s not her that gets on my tits. It’s every other corporate cunt jumping on the band wagon with completely random-unrelated stuff that has nothing to do with it whatsoever, smacking a union jack on it and calling it ‘Jubilee…’
Jubilee cupcakes and tea cups I can deal with.
But it doesn’t stop there. They are taking every fucking inanimate object or abstract idea, sticking ‘Jubilee’ in front of it and expecting the average punter to cream their pants with delight at the prospect of a ‘Jubilee themed iPod’ that they can keep forever. Yuck!
Today I saw an advert for a Jubilee Lawnmower (union jack handles). What’s next?
Jubilee Edition Hemorrhoid Cream (clotted)
Jubilee Cast Enamel Squirrel (well, why the fuck not?)
Jubilee Hamster Shaving Kit (for when you really need to shave that hamster)
Jubilee themed stab-proof vest (to protect yourself from the psychos down the river pageant)
Special Jubilee Edition Quran
Jubilee Butt-Plug (in shape of Queen's head - much more fun than a mug)
Jubilee themed Diamond Encrusted Gimp Suit (now that I would buy)
Jubilee Celebratory Rape Alarm
Jubilee Ice Pick (to stab yourself in the head with when it gets too much)
I think it is fairly safe to say that life hasn’t exactly gone as planned in the last six months, which is probably why I am a little narky about this Jubilee shizzle, considering I had no intention of being in the country for it. Today I sent Scruffy-but-Handsome off to a job interview dressed in a suit. The overall effect was rather reminiscent of dressing a corgi in a tuxedo. Cute and slightly amusing, but definitely not something I planned to ever do.
The one saving grace of the last 2 weeks has been that I finally managed to sell the house. This means my lodgers are moving out this weekend. It’s been quite a journey, having this rag-tag and morally suspect set of individuals living together;
1) Me - errant part-timer trying to project the appearance of being legitimately busy and important with nose-constantly-in-laptop working on various 'projects' one of which being this blog, whilst actually doing three shades of fuck all.
2) Lodger 1 - precarious platinum-blonde and all-round lovable one-time gypsy with a dog and a slightly murky past that may or may not have involved pouring acid in her enemies' swimming pools and slashing people's tyres.
3) Lodger 2 - freelance stock-market-trading spiv with sloaney wardrobe pretensions and (it would appear) an enormous amount of cash in the bank (spends almost 24/7 in his bedroom glued to four computer screens gambling with fraudulently-gotten gains and if he's not doing that stuffing coke up his nostrils and renting whores.)
Part of me is sad to see them go. The other part (the part that has been living in constant terror of being horribly murdered in my bed with a machete, or finding Lodger 2 swinging from the ceiling fan one evening) is quite relieved.
It’s sort of the end of an era.
Well, anyway, since I am in the country for this bloody Jubilee I intend to enjoy it.
Therefore I will be spending most of the bank holiday playing ‘BBC TV Coverage Jubilee Cliché Bingo.’ This basically entails sitting on the sofa in your underpants eating cake and downing a Tequila every time you encounter one of these hackneyed hyperbole clangers:
- Cliff Richard /Paul McCartney (1 shot Tequila - double measure if on stage together)
- Keep Calm and (insert fucktarded cliché here - sambucca shot)
- A Union Jack being waved feverishly by a spotty oik (Gin)
- Victoria Sponge (See it, eat it)
- Coronation Chicken (See it, eat it)
- Huw Edwards saying any of the following: ‘The People’s Queen, Day of National Joy, Her Majesty’s Famous Sense of Fun, Deeply Moving, And What a Magnificent Spectacle This Is, Such Dedication and Hard Work, Oh Look There Goes Pippa Middleton's Arse' (1 glass champers)
- Bunting (Rum)
- Prince Phillip saying something fabulous and pissing everybody off. (1 seasonaire nightmare)
I shall then probably put a fuck load of drugs in my face, party until I’m sick and round it all off with a Jubilee themed gang bang. God Save the Queen.
Oh yes….and if anyone else has any Jubilee Clichés for me to add to my bingo list I’d be thrilled to hear them…