The Queen and her Bafta

So obviously this is some sort of wind up. Last night the Queen, Elizabeth Regina herself, won the Bafta (British Association of Film and TV Awards) for lifetime support of British film and everyone kept a straight face. I was half expecting Dom Joly to jump out screaming, ‘HELLO. NO, NO IT’S A PISS TAKE LOVE. GET BACK TO YA CORGI,’ but he didn’t and this troubled me. Quite what she has done is literally beyond any comprehension of mine and for years I have spent happily licking the back of her head, thinking she was some sort of inanimate stamp who sailed my letters to safety, allowing ample time to get lost, found, lost, trampled on, found and then delivered three months later. Obviously not. At one point the article references..

Reportedly, Her Majesty remarked that there were so many films out there that one needed someone to “sift out” the good ones.

Really? Is that what she said? Is that another way of saying she has done literally nothing and in fact what you’re doing is paying homage to a tired institution, that holds some sort of divine right to sit incontinently in a big castle with a pack of OAP mongrels, excluding the rest of society from any sort of hope for contemporary rule or republic? Are we still supporting an establishment which holds final lobby to our parliamentary affairs? One where judicial embargo is used to prevent us being aware of just how much power and authority (non-deserved) they possess? One which explicitly excludes on the basis of gender, religion, colour, intellect, achievement, demands un-warranted deference and laughs in the face of meritocracy?

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62 pence of my money, and yours, goes towards keeping a clan of bigoted pointless people on a throne. The UN have in the past called for a referendum and this of course I would happily support. I probably wouldn’t even care if they just did something. If I turn up for my MOT next week and Harry is there changing my oil, I might even shake his greasy hand, but he won’t so I can’t and even if he did, he’d probably spend the first ten minutes of our conversation wondering if he should call me a Paki or not. That is to say he could hold a conversation for ten minutes; at this point it remains unclear and the jury are so far out, they fell into the 70’s.

As it happens, I’ve probably supported the British film industry more than that daft old bat. I’ve paid up to £30 to go to the cinema; to sit in some tiny seat, with no leg room with the air conditioning on full blast (WHY IS IT ALWAYS ON) with Danny Dickhead sat in front of me laughing on a phone which he probably hasn’t even figured out how to turn on. I saw The King’s Speech for God’s sake. They should give me an OBE, just for watching Colin Firth attempting to act. He would’ve been alright but the poor bastard kept stuttering.

Speaking of films, I should I have been doing revision today, but I didn’t because, well, I made a film. It’s a short about not being able to revise, which of course would probably be easier if I spent less time making a bleedin’ film and more time revising. No matter; here it is comrades.

Toodle Pip.

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