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My mother’s maiden name was pure Irish, despite the fact that she’s from a long line of “true” Cockneys, born wivin the sound of Bow Bells before they were silenced (the first time, I think) and my father’s mother was brought up in Cork, in Ireland, so there was probably no hope for me really …
When I was a kid, I remember that it was really important to my gran to get a real shamrock (someone sent it over from Ireland), to wear on St. Paddy’s Day every year.
Anyway, I was chatting to my mother on the phone yesterday afternoon, about what I have absolutely no recollection now. Yes, this probably is a “senior moment” on my part, but that’s not the main reason for “losing the plot.”
Whatever important issue the conversation was about, mother meant to refer to MI5 (the United Kingdom’s counter-intelligence and security agency), but what came out of her mouth was MFI (flat pack furniture Made For Idiots).
For once mother, yes, I can see how you’d easily confuse the two! 
Terry Gilliam made his own sign, “Will direct for food”, while he was jobless. Similarly reduced to begging, I can more than empathize! Photo: ajwilhelmGiven the farcical nature of so many events being reported out of the UK in recent times, I have absolutely no trouble imagining that security services (and British authorities in general), have employed the same bloke who writes the bloody useless instruction leaflets for MFI, IKEA or anything else that requires self-assembly, to re-write the “spy manual”, etc.
At this point, both of us collapsed into fits of girlish giggles, as we imagined “Flat Pack DIY Spy Kits“, made from crappy MDF (Medium-density fibreboard - the only thing around here that’s high-density, is my head), that probably should only have occurred in the “hallucinatory” mind of Monty Python, Terry Gilliam.
Where was I? Planet earth?
Oh no, it was Eurovision. Well, I wasn’t, but Naomi commented that Spain’s Rodolfo Chikilicuatre reminded her of a Karaoke singer. Whilst I don’t disagree with her, that, I think, raises the standards for karaoke singing, as I remember it!
Despite that, I’m sorry to say that I still reckon England’s serious entry, just doesn’t have a hope in hell against the stiff comedic competition this year.
Though, I can imagine once all countries have caught on, that Eurovision will degenerate completely into a “how crappy can we make it?” (ask MFI) contest, become a huge hit with worldwide audiences, making the careers of otherwise unknown comedians and turning them into surreal sorta counter-heros.
Though they get “nul point” for their translation (half the French one is in English), El Guiri pointed to the fact that Spanish TV site, RTVE, has provided multi-lingual versions of the lyrics to Spain’s joke entry, El Chiki Chiki.
Just to sort out nationality: for the sketch / song, comic actor, David Fernández, plays the character of a supposedly Argentine or South American immigrant, named Rodolfo Chikilicuatre. And there is a [loose] topical link, because, as Wikipedia tells us, Saint Patrick’s Day is celebrated outside Ireland:
“In Argentina, and especially in Buenos Aires, all-night long parties are celebrated in designated streets, since the weather is comfortably warm in March.”
Adriana Lopez has the best description of what El Chiki Chiki is all about, in English, in her article, which asks Is the Chiki Chiki dance the new Macarena?, where she says, “even the uncoordinated can tackle the dance“.
Or does she mean, “especially the uncoordinated“? Anyway, even with the aid of the “translation” (using the term loosely), you still aren’t going to know that:
1. “brikindans” means breakdance;
2. “crusaíto” is that little cross step, favoured by soul groups in mohair suits;
3. “maiquelyason” is a Michael Jackson Moonwalk and
4. Robocop is usually confused with popping.
The best demonstration, in slow time, should you want to ensure your proficiency at El Chiki Chiki before attending a Latin festivity, is this 
“gospel” (school choir) version of El Chiki Chiki. It may just be “worse” than the original.
But as “wonderfully terrible” as Spain’s offering is, I think it will have trouble lowering itself to the standard set by Ireland’s entry, Dustin the Turkey.
Or as Uncle Bob sings (in fake Irish accent), How much lower can we go?
The answer might be any number of Irish bars in Tenerife, of which, Molly Malone Irish Pub, Puerto de la Cruz is one example, except that, unlike British bars that draw contempt, you’ll find locals who like the Irish ones.
Oh yes, San Patrick is also celebrated in the Canary Islands, as Mojo Canario tell us, “with big drunken parties.” They don’t say? Is the Pope Catholic?
This bloody hilarious classic quote from A Comedy of Holiday complaints, “I would like to complain about the price of alcohol in the resort. It was too cheap and I woke with a hangover every day,” could well apply too.
No doubt, a whole league of nationalities have been celebrating St Patrick’s Day here since Saturday and will continue to do so today and beyond, no matter what the “official” date was this year. That, I think was the bishops’ real reason for allowing the feast to be moved: to turn it into a three-day event!
Curious too, because the reason given was because March 17, 2008, falls on the second day of Holy Week. But it occurred to me that San José (Saint Joseph) or Día del Padre (Fathers’ Day) in Spain is on March 19th, which this year is on Wednesday, the 4th day of Holy Week, but there’s no suggestion of that capitalistic “Hallmark holiday” getting moved. Fiestas never stop here!
It’s all El Guiri’s fault for mentioning him, but then my mind drifted back even further (Cliff Richard was OK, before he threw it away on Eurovision). Then I found this, Summer Holiday. It’s the karaoke version too!
What more can I say, other than that I used to compere karaoke at an Irish bar in Playa de las Americas.
We had an Irish vet in one night, singing drunkenly, so I warned people not to take their pets to him the next morning, because he might try to castrate the females.
Another night in that very same bar, some bozo had asked if my name was, “Pamela like in Pamela Anderson?” and, being blessed (then) with “The Gift of the Gab“, or at least, ability to string sentences and throw back the odd one liner, I said “Nah mate, more brain, less tits.”
Recalling this made me realize too just how quiet and reserved (boringly normal) I’ve been becoming in my old age and I think it’s time to (in)correct that!
Sponzurz
