MBB is a twat.
The sort of intellignet analysis we’ve come to expect from someone who has no respect whatsoever for anyone who disagrees with him.
Snob.
[quote=“myboyblue”]The sort of intellignet analysis we’ve come to expect from someone who has no respect whatsoever for anyone who disagrees with him.
Snob.[/quote]
You gotta love Farmers use of profanities ! ‘Twat’ today, last week it was ‘strewth’… A good use of colonial colloquialism there from the die hard 32 county sovereign representive.
Another quality article from Patrick Freyne in the tribune yesterday.
Television Critic, Patrick Freyne - You can take the fish out of the bank…
Reality television thrives on fish-out-of-water scenarios. They’re usually just a matter of setting up the scene, pointing a camera and watching events play out. I’d love to make a living coming up with fish-out-of-water scenarios.
Here’s one off the top of my head: Jim is a milkman from Drogheda. He is accustomed to delivering dairy products to ghost estates in the commuter belt, but how will he cope being chased by wolves across a desolate arctic wasteland?
Here’s another: Joshua is a warlord and war criminal. He is known and feared the length and breadth of the lawless territories he terrorises, but how will he fare teaching honours maths to public school-boys in Kent?
Anyway, such things are televisual pay-dirt and generally speaking they conclude with someone crying about their previously limited vision of life (“I don’t understand differentiation!” weeps Joshua as big tears fall on his necklace of human ears) and with a new understanding of a part of society which was once alien (“Milkmen are tastier than I expected,” admit the wolves).
The BBC decided to combine this fish-out-of-water template with public anger at the banking fraternity in its new documentary Can You Bank on Me? in which two former high flyers come ‘down to earth’, working in frontline businesses suffering from the credit crunch ‘they’ created. Laid-off hedge-fund manager Griselda Alison Wheeler goes to work and advises a Blackpool hotel, while unemployed investment manager Amit Patel helps out at a struggling dairy.
On some level, the producers are playing it for schadenfreude. The sight of Amit milking cows and Griselda cleaning toilets while being bossed around by gleeful lower management types does symbolically give us a pound of flesh. Ha ha! Take that banking community! That’s what they should all be doing, we instinctively think.
But like most of these programmes, what’s really being explored is the vast gulf that separates people on the breadline from the overeducated puppet masters whose actions recently sent society into economic freefall.
So while Griselda Alison Wheeler might at times seem to be conscious of her class advantages and affects sympathy for the hard work the chambermaids and waitresses do for very little money, she can’t seem to internalise what it all means. After being reprimanded for shoddy cleaning, she mutters: “What I’ve got, and you don’t, is brains, ambition and drive.”
And despite not knowing what the minimum wage works out at (“Is that 100 a day, a week, or a month?”) she’s still incredibly judgemental of her hotel co-worker Ruth’s huge credit card bills, and insists that it’s people like Ruth, and not financial types like her, who are responsible for the credit crunch.
To be fair, both Griselda and Amit do get stuck into the menial tasks at hand, and show all the ingenuity you’d expect of people with their level of education and sense of entitlement. Amit finds potential investors for the dairy, and Griselda forges a new business plan and finds prospective clients for the hotel.
And their temporary workmates also come with preconceived notions and chips on their shoulders. “You’ll never come down to my world, just like I’ll never get up to your world,” Ruth notes sadly to Griselda at the end. “I’ve good days and bad days but I’m happy. Are you happy?”
And before Griselda can even answer, Ruth jumps in defensively to say: “See, you had to pause.”
But the fact is, the destruction of western finance notwithstanding, both Griselda and Amit seem happy enough with their lives. Indeed, the programme even concludes with Griselda getting a bit teary about what she’s learned, which, it turns out, is that despite the credit crunch, her business skills are still awesome.
“You could do with developing some of those skills, boy,” said a careers guidance teacher back in the 1960s.
“Nah. I’ve other plans,” said the youngster. “I’m planning to make a living by looking a little bit sad.”
“Nobody can make a living from that!” pshawed the mortar-boarded pedagogue. “That’s ridiculous! You should learn a proper trade like joinery, journalism, or high finance!”
“I will prove you wrong, sir!” said the boy. “My hangdog expression will become my fortune or my name’s not Timothy Spall!”
Timothy Spall is an excellent actor whose main skill is looking a bit sad, a skill he has ample opportunity to exhibit in Gunrush, a drama about a driving instructor whose teenage daughter is killed in a random and meaningless gun crime. What ensues is sort of Death Wish meets the kitchen sink dramas of Mike Leigh, in which Spall deals with his distraught family, implausibly gets his hands on the bullet that killed his daughter, and then trawls the council flats trying to find the gun. There’s also a heavy-handed metaphor about how gun ownership is a little like drug-use, so whenever a new character gets their hands on a firearm, the camera closes in on them and their eyes widen and they look like corrupted junkies.
As a drama, it doesn’t quite come off. This is partly because exploring the dramatic realities of gun-crime is probably not best served with the tale of an atypical middle-class victim. And it’s also because they’ve imitated The Wire with equal amounts of time focusing on either side of the offending gun. As nobody on the side of the ‘baddies’ had a facial expression to match Spall’s charismatic glumness, it was hard to maintain interest.
So it seems that young Timothy Spall’s face did become his fortune after all. And last week in Tralee, 32 young ladies chased the same dream. For almost six hours, Ray D’Arcy made weary but charming small-talk to Roses who hoofed, sang, did science experiments, played with snakes, discussed econometrics, explained their complicated jobs, espoused worthy causes, and told story after story about how their parents met. Basically, The Rose of Tralee is like being at a surprisingly boring dinner party (surprising given the snakes and science experiments).
Which is the same as any other year. What’s changed about The Rose of Tralee is the context. While we were still in the throes of an economic boom, it was celebrated vaguely ironically as a throwback to a simpler time with an unwritten understanding that we were beyond all that really (yes, I know that the girls and families taking part always take it dead seriously and that it’s a great event for everyone in Tralee etc.).
And that was grand. We watched a few minutes of The Rose, and then went back to property investing, actioning synergies, gargling lattes, driving living-room-sized SUVs , or whatever it is we’ve supposedly been doing for the past decade. But now that things have gone ‘simple’ again, it’s hard not to watch The Rose of Tralee with the growing worry that this is all we’re good for; that it’s this, weak tea and novenas for us until Dev resolves that fruitless economic war with Britain.
Since when was ‘strewth’ a profanity? Or even twat?
Oh and let it go will ya. You are looking like an even bigger clown with these lamer and lamer attempts at having a pop.
I think I pulled him up on the strewth thing alright, I half expected him to come back and tell me to “rack off”.
You flaming Mongrel… Twat tho is particularly bad.
Twat is a very poor effort, I mean if his heart was really in it he’d just use cunt, but its not and he didn’t. Its the kind of thing some flamin gallah would do.
Sky sports news women. Georgie ain’t even the hottest one
There is a new blondey one(not charlotte) with a slight northern/yorkshire accent who is unbelievably hot…
Good job t’wasn’t Twit he used otherwise you’d be well rattled :rolleyes:
There is a Ginger one Sarah something that I would plough til Xmas.
The one on now has massive cans. Puke will ya do up a poll with pics, no need for the auld minger.
[quote=“KIB man”]There is a Ginger one Sarah something that I would plough til Xmas.
The one on now has massive cans. Puke will ya do up a poll with pics, no need for the auld minger.[/quote]
You will have to give me a couple of days to make sure I get all the ones on it, unless someone can find me a link with all the relevant parties on it…
[quote=“KIB man”]There is a Ginger one Sarah something that I would plough til Xmas.
The one on now has massive cans. Puke will ya do up a poll with pics, no need for the auld minger.[/quote]
I posted another one of them up on some other thread. I think her name is Mia.
[quote=“KIB man”]There is a Ginger one Sarah something that I would plough til Xmas.
[/quote]
Ginger gee hair is wrong
Is this the one who does late night shifts? Chloe Everton is her name.
True but gee hair on hot birds is extinct in modern society.
Sarah Jane Mee is the gingers name.
That’s a Scouse accent on her, Puke.