Do they mean us?

...My American friends ask me lots of questions about Blighty. They have a warped view of Brits (we're all pasty-faced, orthodontically-challenged twerps who talk like Prince Charles) so they're always keen to find out how Brits *really* live. [And hey, Brits think Yanks are stupid, moronic, overweight therapy-addicts with no taste or culture, right?] I try and be patient with them and explain that British society is not that radically different from American, it's just that we have our silly little quirky institutions that remind us of centuries gone by (afternoon tea, Morris Men, the Conservative Party), and that yes we do have a slightly eccentric sense of humour (although I must admit my Kenneth Williams' "Ooh matron" impersonation rather fell on deaf ears)...

...In an effort to "educate" my colonial cousins, I force them to watch as much BBC America as possible. They laugh at the mad comedy programmes (comparing stuff like "The League Of Gentlemen" and even "The Fast Show" to the anodyne, formulaic US comedies is like comparing Shakespeare to Jackie Collins) and dig the contemporary dramas ("This Life" - my god, it has young people actually *swearing* on it!). I explain the jokes and obscure British cultural references and generally try to keep them up to speed...

...But my efforts came rather unstuck the other evening when a certain programme came onto the screen. I could offer no explanation for its existence. The programme? "One Man And His Dog". That's right. "One Man And His Dog". Only Britons could make a telly programme as utterly bonkers as "One Man And His Dog". What's the selling point? A crusty old giffer herding some sheep around a field. That's it. Quite how the programme makers pitched this one to the BBC in the first place is beyond me. And it's been running for something like twenty years and gets broadcast all over the world. It's one of the BBC's most lucrative exports, apparently. I'm sure it must be insane if you watch it on drugs.

...But in a way I'm glad there are programmes like "One Man And His Dog". For even as my motherland slowly turns into the 51st state of Amerikka (you fools!), somewhere, someplace an episode of "One Man And His Dog" will be playing. Some far flung corner of the world will be forever England, my son...

...On a lighter note, a funny thing happened to an SF buddy of mine who has relocated to London. [But a quick explanation is needed here for all the crusty old giffers/sheep botherers amongst you - Crystal Meth is a "rave drug" popular out here with the young folk]. Anyhow, my friend was at a bar and got chatting to this cockney
chick. He asked her where she lived. "Crystal Palace," she replied. "What the f**k is that?" he asked. "Some kind of drug sh*t?" She promptly slapped him round the face and stormed off. "I can't believe there is a city [his words] called Crystal Palace," he wrote to me the next day. "The ravers back home would have a field day with that."

Namaste,

Kieran

PS Dad - sorry for the Morris Men crack.

Work like you don't need the money.
Dance like nobody's watching.
Live life like there's no tomorrow.
Love like you've never been hurt.