Weymouth Carnival 2005
To Weymouth Carnival to observe the latest trends in rock-bottom entertainment, and it is my disturbing duty to inform you that our society is doomed.
It's majorettes. Majorettes are taking over the world.
Some people would say that this is A Good Thing, but they are wrong. They are thinking of lithe, supple American cheerleaders in tight outfits who grow up to be Paula Abdul. Mmmmm.... US cultural hegemony....
I am thinking about a bunch of stone-faced boilers, hair swept back into the style known on Popbitch as the "pramface", stuffed into an outfit knocked up out of a pair of old curtains, joylessly goose-stepping through town to Crazy Frog played through a twenty year old Amstrad ghetto blaster. I think you can see the difference.
Of the eight troops of majorettes (outnumbering the Tae Kwon-do displays two-to-one) special horror was reserved for a troop from *cough* outside Dorset, specailly bussed in, I presume to make all the preceeding horrors look better. Even Mrs Duck agreed that at least three of them were probably blokes, on the look out for red hot baton twirling action, but had gone native.
The the Red Arrows came. Excellent!
Also: rather too much of this kind of thing.
No vote-o today, due to the woe detailed earlier this week. There will be both mirth and woe tomorrow, I've just got to write the thing.
Anyhoo, I am indebted to John Morton for passing this rather important news to me regarding the world scud shortage. It appears that jazz magazines rot slower due to their "coated, glossy pages". Also, they are mildy radioactive, which means once you have buried your pr0n, you can still come back to it later with the aid of a geiger counter.
Excellent, and only slightly disturbing.