Well, drape me in a bedsheet, put me pillowcase over me bonce, and avail meself of torches bourne by the nearby mob on route to fortification flambément and the hunting down of maniacal monstrosities manufactured by madmen and their humpty-backed accomplices for the toasting of toes thereof!
Due to challengement of chronographical perusal and accusatory digitary pointage (as opposed to my usual appendage wragglement of leerage), I’m lifting and revising my test pile of bloggocks, for which my Farceberk Fiends were the testees.
About a week or so ago, I was watching the box with the magic animatory display, when I managed to accidentally catch about 3 minutes of some show called My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding
Firstly, I was appalled at the misleading title - yeah, there were a few verging on the chunky monkey end of the svelte spectrometer, but no actual Big Fat Gypsies. Not that I wanted to watch vast bulbous lardmountains of munterescent troll tying the knot, but when promised Big Fat Gypsies, I expect Big fat Gypsies.
Second – there weren’t even any gypsies in it! Ne'er a sign of a colourful wagon, a roaring campfire or a lanky Gyspy King singing “Nel blu dipinto di blu” offering his 12yr old daughter (born in the wagon of a travellin' show, whose mama used to dance for the money they'd throw) to the king of a relative tribe.
Instead of the promised curse-hexing, heather-selling, peg-thieving Romany/Szgany/Gypsy thralls of lore, we gets them 'Travellers' - Thems what use up all our petrol in caravans instead of traditional horse drawn curtain-door’d wagons like proper gypsies!
But what confused me most of all, was the voice over stating "Like most modern travellers, Xxxxxx lives in a house instead of a caravan". Now, I was under the impression that Travellers were, well, Travellers! Traversing the length and breadth of Britain, and getting moved on by The Racist Coppers when too many doorsteps of Daily Fail readers are relieved of their daily organic skimmed pinta and Yakult.
Further to this, I questioned the definition of A Traveller, and I’ve since been informed that most “Travellers” have adapted to life in the 20th century by settling down with a job/own business, a house and a mortgage! That’s not a Traveller – that’s Normal Folk! It's like me saying I'm a roving minstrel. Except I don't roam, don't play the lute, nor sing in taverns or royal courts coz I lives in a house and has a job because I’d adapted to life in the 21st century. And I’m no fox!
I reckons this show should be called "My Bog Standard Chavscum Wedding", as I couldn't see the difference between these alleged "Free As A Bird Gypsies" and stereotypical chavyobs of the Shameless variety.
Maybe I can get a telly documentary also! My Big Fat Roaming Minstrel Weeding*, showing the ancient art of singing for my supper from town to town, by working in IT afore returning home to play on the PS3.
Now, since then, some Gormsters have been bemused as to how I could gather all that information in just three minutes, without even seeing a single driveway being monoblocked.
Well, unlike my less intellectually bequeathed brethren, to me, the key phrase “Like most modern travellers, Xxxxxx lives in a house instead of a caravan” doesn’t warrant an hour long tortuous viewing to ascertain that most modern Travellers live in domiciles instead of wheeled vehicular conveyances. And that the stick figures getting wed ain’t reversed-lipsuctioned salad-dodgers with cake and bun crumbs all over their voluminous “shelf above the toy shop”.
It would seem that excessive viewage over and above the 3.75 seconds (plus the time to see a real life visual portrayal of the Guide and Broom) is insufficient to confirm this statement of fact, nor the girth of the matrimonial subjects. It would further seem that light hearted humourescent reference to the lack of portly pikeys and stereotypical gypsy prejudice instead of a po-faced insult-fest on the Travelling community is, in fact, a flagrant all-out racist attack against the evil gyppos!!
Apparantly, the P- word is as bad as the N- word… unless you’re a travelling bare knuckle dragging fighter, and then you’re allowed to use it in your Gaelic Rap vidz, innit. And now I’m a racist, and them hex wielding tarot readers have unleashed The Morrigan upon me. Yikes! I can hear the scream of the Bain Sidhe foretelling my doom at the hands of a rampaging pikey mob right now!
D’oh! My mistake! It was only Sue (of the Sioux) on me iPod. Phew, that was close!
* Although I can't be bothered with gardening. I might run a hoover over the grass once in a while though!
