I hope you all managed to see Bozza on the box yesterday, on a nice programme that helped him to trace his ancestry. Ignoring the more commonplace British ancestors, the story focussed first of all on his paternal line, which came from Turkey. He then went on to follow a maternal line through some minor German nobility, through the royal family of Wurttemburg – all the while Boris continued to profess his Englishness – until eventually this line was traced back to king George II, via Frederick Prince of Wales. (“Wales in Britain?” asked the Eton educated lord mayor). Bozza felt very pleased to find that he had English connections as well as all of these foreign chaps. No one had the heart to tell him where George II was born. I have eased off in my pursuit of Boris on his blog since they started censoring my contributions. This is neither here nor there. Clearly one thing that he does not lack is someone making him look daft.
I am pleased to report that my family history research has not resulted in my turning up anyone remotely famous, apart from a young lady from Crewe (cue Limerick competition) with whom you are all familiar, a tenuous connection by marriage to one of the truly great television presenters (I am not telling) and an actress who I once saw on the television (still not telling). Unsurprisingly, I have not found any foreign ancestors. As an internationalist this is mildly disappointing, although my great great grandfather (direct paternal line) was born in Ireland. What they all have in common is that they were. Common that is. Proud working class folk, riddled with poverty under the oppression of Boris’s smarmy ancestors. Inevitably, when I find Adam’s marriage certificate, I will be able to prove my relationship to all of you. Then I will be round for Christmas.
In addition to the Boris Johnson show, I have enjoyed watching the splendid drama series “Law and Order”. Not the USA one, but GF Newman’s plays from 1978. I have been trying to get obtain this for some time. You may be amused (unlikely) to see a correspondence relating to an early attempt to do so.
21 comments:
Well, I was very amused by your letter to the Beeb.
This sensation in connection to Broadcasting Housemakes a nice change for me because BBC America does not amuse me at all; it seems to consist mainly of all-day Python marathons and then 'documentaries' about having big breasts or small breasts or being a male anorexic. What's going on over there? Are you keeping the good stuff and just exporting the rubbish?
Don't forget to watch Boris at the closing ceremony of the Olympics this weekend.
Is your relative from Crewe that young woman who fell off in the BMX?
My great-grandfather (paternal side) is from Cork ... hence my surname, no doubt. Surnames don't change much, do they?
Kaz, there is, amusingly, more than one woman in Crewe. I know this from experience. Whether any of them are more famous than poor Shanaze is a moot point.
There remains though the ever present threat that one day the family Scurra and that of mine will be united through wedlock and I will be brewing some alcohol-free organic lentil wine just in case.
Having traced my ancestry to Cuchulain and Cleopatra I am most unimpressed by Boris's lineage.
Being related to all the royal houses of Europe just makes you an inbreed. I'm surprised he has more than one eye.
You're related to Terry Wogan?
Arabella. Exporting the rubbish was a tradition begun with our getting rid of the pilgrim fathers.
Kaz. I will not disclose the identity of the people that I mentioned.
Zoe. If only we were related. I think that having me as a close relative would help you come to terms with the difficult issues that you have.
Richard. You may need something stronger. (Than the wine, not as a loving wife, that is).
Garfer. Go easy on Bozza. It is not his fault.
Geoff. You know that I am not going to name my relations. Neither will I disclose your relationship to Cecil Parkinson.
I've been practising for 7 years now. There's a lot to learn.
Titter.
Sadly I missed the show, as my TV was burried and piles of boxes. And no I can't watch it on i-player because th elibrary doesn't have speakers (well, OK, I could watch it, but not listen to it, if one were being pedantic).
I saw a bit of that programme about Boris.
I hate that program - the way they always get emotional about something that happened to someone bloody centuries ago that they are vaguely related to, like they have some kind of precious link to them - what a load of bollocks!
Vicus, I'll await your arrival for Christmas this year.
there was a young lady from Crewe
who didn't know what to do
so she pulled off her knickers
asked for bog roll from vicus
and disappeared into the loo
there was a young lady from Crewe
virtually distressed, alone and quite blue
vicus added her to his blog roll
(he found her writing really quite droll)
and now she'd like to be friends with you
any winners then, for the limerick competition. . .
ILTV, no, both competitors failed the drugs test.
you mean I should have taken some?
I'm so naive. . .
"Inevitably, when I find Adam’s marriage certificate, I will be able to prove my relationship to all of you."
My current marital status aside, you probably would be able to. I can trace my ancestry to England, France, Germany, Ireland, and believe it or not, North Carolina, as I'm actually 1 bazillionth Cherokee Indian.
See, the secret to having a very international background it simple: be born in America. Once you have this background, you've officially done all that you really need to do to consider yourself "a citizen of the world" and are free to ignore everything going on outside your country.
On another note, during the Olympic closing ceremony, my parents commented on how sloppy-looking Boris was. I pointed out to my parents that Boris was a favorite target of yours. They told me to be quiet, the Olympics were on.
Adam, shut up, the Olympics have just finished.
So Madeline Smith (she who dodged the attention of lesbian vampires and Frankie Howerd by the simple expedient of unleashing her substantial shirt-potatoes in an entirely ungratuitous manner in the late 60s/early 70s) works in the BBC shop now?
I am indebted to you, Tim, and am now convinced that her reply to me contained typos rather than factual errors. After all, she would have to place the keyboard at a very peculiar angle and some distance away in order to be able to see it beyond the end of her tits.
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