I’ve never watched US drama series ‘Suits.’ I’ve heard that it is a mediocre time-filler with underdeveloped characters, plodding plot lines and clunky acting. One of its stars marries a British royal celeb on Saturday. It is difficult to know what a jobbing TV actress sees in a dopey immature private school caricature who will have a lifetime of massive unearned wealth at his disposal. Is it his jokes about machine-gunning Afghanis from his helicopter being “like a computer game,” or is it his fancy dress party costume choices that have included a nazi uniform (officer’s uniform of course) and nude billiards, or does she just enjoy grinning insincerely, accepting bunches of flowers and spouting hollow platitudes?
This wedding has been rammed down the throats and up the rectums of the British people by the desperate royal marketing and PR industry and by a complicit media. The couple of bores indulged in a tour of Britain, including an unannounced politically-motivated visit to Belfast, to promote themselves as if they are weak celebs deserving of attention. All this promotion was paid for by the British public. But, it’s been a damp squib: A handful of ‘fans’ waving miniature flags handed to them; there were more gormless paparazzi than members of the public. If there wasn’t a bottomless pit of tax-payers’ money available to pay for the tour then the marketing team would have pulled the plug a long time ago.
All celebs with limited or no talent, who have no useful contribution to society and have vacant witless personalities, try many stunts to beg for fame and notoriety and, subsequently, money, but such chancers are limited by the cost of stunts and by the need for a favourable response from the customers. For royal celebs, the money keeps flowing regardless of how much the popularity is failing. It’s like being forced to pay for an incurable disease.
The bill for every aspect of the wedding will be sent to the British public: The policing of the wedding, the British soldiers at the wedding, the entertainment at the reception, the pre-wedding hotel stays, the honeymoon, the wedding dress, the ring, the upkeep of the carriage, the grooming of the horses, etc. – every damn thing is paid for by the British public, even the toilet paper that they wipe their arses on during the day. Everything apart from the food for the public guests who, though invited, have been told to bring their own sandwiches.
It’s been good to see that members of the bride’s family have tried to make some money for themselves from her wedding without forcing the public to pay for it. Her father staged a few photographs that made a nice sum when sold to the media and her sister rediscovered her family connection and indulged in a little self-promotion.
For the groom’s family, it’s just another day of scrounging and posing for photos. If his hip will allow him to be there the decrepit old racist will need to watch his quips, the arms dealer will need to get off the phone to his contacts in Bahrain and the groom’s friends should try to keep their clothes on. Fascinators and fake military medals will be the attire of choice for the most venal family in Britain.
Watching the royal wedding on TV is optional but paying for it is compulsory. Being a recipient of the royals’ fame is also compulsory whether the majority of people want them or not. No matter how mind-numbingly dull they are, with personalities capable of inducing spontaneous catatonic states, their PR machine continues ramming the soulless banality of their weddings, babies and deaths into all our orifices. Royal funerals are the worst – all the fascinators are black.