Grapevine ~ expect it to be white hot with the 'Normals' hissing and dissing.Pempti (25 Οκτώβριος as ever is) promises/threatens to be dishing up tofferopouloi to make even moi sound like Sid James.We live in glorious times: 6 more episodes to go of ToTI and already the natives are restless.Tory toffs dont get it ~ which we knew but the Torygraph puts the bovver boot in.Grecian goddess Ariana Huffington's Post also on the case.India Knight in the Sunday Times keeping it real by monitoring the Midian backlash from all us salts of the earth.ITV's 'Tale of Two Islands' en transmission and the stalwart Domonic right there for us with all da links.GANGBANG Corfu-style ~ Nai! (or whatever the Etonian Corfiot is for 'Yah!') I'm not inclined to watch further episodes, not because of what'll appear on the screen but of the intense boredom and incomprehension stirred by the almost hourly torrent of must-read reactions from others with whom I share my final home. I have nothing to say for or about my fellow inhabitants of this paradise ghetto. Just to type it is exhausting but only now I do type it does any sense of the rootless reality come thru. I've never had a 'home' country - Australia, Hong Kong, unmarried London/married London, Texas, Boston, London again, Hong Kong again, Seattle and crumbling marriage. But never out of their native habitat, and here again is a clue to the uniting unhappiness of displacement. I've met them individually, of course: in the workplace, pubs and the daily humdrum of life. It has not just stirred but reared breathing fires of rage and strangled-vowel indignation that even the most articulate rabble-rousers must sense goes deeper than the imagined slights that fuel these verbal flailings. I set out to tease and goad with harmless wordplay, but I under-estimated the sleeping beast that has been woken. This must be how all Us/Them revolutions start: cultural incomprehension. We/They simply do not comprehend what on earth all the fuss is about. Thanks to my mother, here in Corfers I mix with the 'Unreal' and - do you know what? - Grapevine might be a-thunder with knee-jerk reactions, but in the salons of the plummy-voweled, not a ripple disturbs the uneasy calm of our own woes. His ear bent by a neighbouring bar-stool drunk, Hemingway turned to the man and said I lack the vocabulary to pin it to the page. The deafening roar of self-justification depresses and disarms my pen. How else hold our heads up except to declare ourselves 'real'? We live in straitened times, bankrupt and going down slow. I am not up to the task of measured analysis, let alone a light-hearted commentary.
It has opened flood-gates of deeply-buried emotions way beyond mere televisual entertainment. The defensiveness ~ the long-nursed grudges and pre-conceptions ~ the resentments and life-long yearnings to be heard.It's of personal satisfaction that the prelude post I dashed off has proved so prescient ~ indeed, actually quoted from, albeit without their realising they were all drawing from a single source. If I felt so inspired, I'd ditch the keyboard, grab the Ovation and write a Randy Newman-style paeon to 'Real People', quoting extensively from actual comments. Who are these people? What has coming to Corfu done to them? Only episode three and I'm exhausted monitoring the heart-felt comments and, frankly, baffled by the 'thinking' behind many of the opinions. I set out to review the series as a whole, never imagining the tsunami of local feedback and strident opinions that burst over me. Last night saw the third episode of our contentious documentary on the 'two islands' of Corfu - still not definitively explained by the makers but much conjectured and pronounced on by the fierce commentariat of Facebook annexe, The Corfu Grapevine. 'CORFIOTER THAN THOU' ~ A Tale of Real People ~ In my ongoing campaign to boost my Corfu Grapevine 'credentials', I'm 'correcting' my harshest critics by reminding them that what Metaxas actually said was, "Dear boy! Come in. Maria's expression (shudder): "Close enough. Now, do you know what important day this is? I am sure father has been teaching you how to be a good Greek" and Anna will curtsey prettily and spout the above. I'm terrified that Maria will be visiting and beckon her over, "Come here, darling, sit by me. Now she'll be telling her homettes, "Like yah, the Italians wanted to move in on the Greeks' territo' - totally like the '300' - so the gang leader texted 'Yo! Ioanni!' and he was like 'Oh, hi! Brandy 'n' Redbull?' I had been telling her of the noble patriotic anniversary I would be celebrating, with 5-star Metaxa and music of the rousingest. Sent this link to Spitfire Anna as part of her ongoing education into Corfioter-than-Thou-ness credentialia and the Lioness of my Loins chirped back, "Daad! Like, 'Oh hi'?" Oh, hi! ~ stupid anti-climactic Wicked Paed - sounds like a Dimitri Savile tribute band.
0 kommentar(er)
