Thursday 7 June 2007

Goons

Have been introduced to The Goon Show. Am quite amused, even though about 1/3 of what they are saying is beyond my ears’ ability of comprehension. It makes me think of several clever and slightly mad friends and relations of mine, namely Matthew the Runner, Pablo the Wombat and Lindsey the Cousine.

In case (like myself), readers are unfamiliar with TGS, it was a live radio show which ran on the BBC from 1951 to 1960 and starred Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan. Storylines are absolutely absurd, detectably post-war psychology, completely politically incorrect; my closest cultural touchstone here is that it is rather like Fibber Macgee and Molly gone off further into utter chaos of hilarity. There are funny voices. There are small linguistic jokes. There are large linguistic jokes. There is ethnic mockery (one of my favourites being the invasion of Red Hairy McLegs the Scotsman).

Here is a small sample of script:
Bluebottle: What time is it Eccles?
Eccles: Err, just a minute. I've got it written down here on a piece of paper. A nice man wrote the time down for me this morning.
Bluebottle: Then why do you carry it around with you, Eccles?
Eccles: Well, if anybody asks me the time, I can show it to them.
Bluebottle: Wait a minute Eccles, my good man...
Eccles: What is it fellow?
Bluebottle: It's writted on this bit of paper, what is eight o'clock, is writted.
Eccles: I know that my good fellow. That's right. When I asked the fella to write it down, it was eight o'clock.
Bluebottle: Well then, supposing when somebody asks you the time, it isn't eight o'clock?
Eccles: Then I don't show it to them.
Bluebottle: Well how do you know when it's eight o'clock?
Eccles: I've got it written down on a piece of paper!

*******
In other news, have managed to return from Minneapolis and still retain the use of y’all in everyday speech.

However, a note for the pseudo-clever traveller and/or money launderer: one ought to not try to exchange any sort of foreign currency in the US. Bank employees merely stare gape-mouthed at you as if you were asking for a dead light bulb, 17 rachets, some gopher poison, a left speaker wire connection, pink gardening gloves and one bent hairpin (single eyebrow raised and lip curled completed the social interaction). This was very annoying and frustrating and involved an immersion on my part into angry reverse culture shock (i.e., having the opinion that the new culture is best and more sensible). It is funny how one gets used to what used to be inconvenient (like being unable to purchase gallons of milk, or even milk at all after 5pm on a Sunday) and how certain one is that one’s own culture will have the same conveniences of the new culture – LIKE CHANGING FLIPPING MONEY!

It appeared to surprise US postal employees, Western Union personel, and bank tellers that one would wish to buy US dollars with any other form of tender (‘what is that?’). [Now, with the current state of the dollar, I suppose, but still…]. Anyhoo, Wells Fargo does change pounds into dollars, although this was at a lower rate than my bank offered in Norwich -- stingy stinkers. And they charged me $5.00 to buy my more valuable notes. AND they would have charged me $25.00 to wire to another bank account (forcing a return to the USPS for a $1.50 money order to mail to the mama and papa, for deposit in the personal bank account so as to pay one’s personal bills).

To explain: in Britain, one can change currency several times on any one street, even if the street is four shops long. The Post Office changes currencies; every travel agency changes currencies; shady-looking Turkish shops exchange currencies; some grocery markets (such as Marks and Spencer) change currencies; and of course, any bank is happy to get rid of dollars. And a lot of these places charge no commission. This was just such a goat rope. With no goats.

*******
In linear culture shock (as opposed to reverse), arranging phones in this country continues to baffle one who continues to be under the delusion that one is in a first world country with ellecterissity and technomolology. Difficulties in acquiring phone service of a normal sort requires almost as large a herd of goats as changing money in the US.

One can only start out with one company here – British Telecom. One may switch later, after one has been with the monopolisers for 3 months. Getting a new order with BT is impossible through online services unless one is installing a brand new service in a newly renovated 13th century building, which needs an engineer to install wiring. So one must call. If one is phoning a phone company, one would perhaps expect that they might have enough people to actually man their phones. Fortunately Skype allowed me to phone from my hotel room (at 5.30 one morning last week) for free, as this took 45 minutes, including the hold time and the time spent deciphering a gorgeous Scottish accent.

My phone was supposed to be turned on Tuesday(since my home is not a newly renovated 13th century building and already had an outlet on the wall), and it was expected that it would come on automatically. My mobile phone had been provided so that the ‘engineer’ could phone me if there was a reason to need to get into my house. He phoned. He did not leave a message or a call-back number. He did, however, leave me a flyer through the door that he MUST HAVE ACCESS. Idiot. Now, the next appointment available is for the 13th. I shall be forced to sit eagerly next to my front door from 8am to 1pm. This is idiotic.

*******
To comfort myself, Tuesday night was cookie night. Brought Nestle Toll-House chocolate chips from Minneapolis and my work colleagues ate a box full today (Wednesday). This made me happy (as I quite enjoyed having some dough and the smell of baking. I have shown no symptoms of worms from eating raw cookie dough.). On Monday, I went out and got cookie sheets and four matching dry goods containers (for 99p each!) for my counter (to go with the wooden spoons, spatula, and measuring cups and spoons bought at Target last week and smuggled into the country to avoid UK taxes). Hmmm. Although I do not consider myself overly materialistic, my two favourite things to buy are kitchen accessories and shoes (yes, I also visited DSW last week). A Well-Shod Chef. Yes, I like it. (The US TAS people were either confused or amused by my suitcase, which also included in addition to the four pairs of shoes, kitchen implements above, three jars of peanut butter, a Swiffer mop, Swiffer refills, Olde English Scratch Cover, new socks and some Orbit gum. If only a folding table and chairs would have fit, that would have been perfect for my little breakfast on the front walk on Saturday mornings. Oh well – perhaps that would have been a bit overboard.)

1 comment:

Matthew said...

Now that excerpt is a classic bit of Goonery. If you looking for something else to amuse than can I suggest 'The Very World of Milton Jones' which is pun city and will have you groaning in pleasure.... oooooh.
Check out Radio 4 and see if you can listen again?