It's official! You can google it, so it must be true! Welcome to the Jubilympics!
Ever since the joke was created for BBC comedy series 'Twenty Twelve' they have become very much a reality.
As Princess Horse, accompanied by 'sporting royalty' in the form of David Beckham (described as 'Sir David' in an effortless prophecy) dispatched the flame from its home in Greece and onto a plane, we immediately became aware of the link between monarchy and Olympics.
If this is this last year of the British Empire, then it's making a desperate attempt to make its presence felt everywhere.
There are now more Union flags in Merthyr than there were before Mrs Windsor's visit ( a place, incidentally, where there have no applications for street parties!) and the Jubilympics is behind them.
If I were to boycott all the shops parading the 'butcher's apron'- a flag which (thank goodness!) has no hint of Cymru on it - I'd be left to live off cheapo crisps and chocolate from the Pound Shops.
Window displays, books, bunting and even many grocery items are daubed with it. It's like the Council have been taken over by hardline Ulster Loyalists, determined to have their way.
So, there is this odd marriage between Jubilee and Olympics, suggesting Britain is one jolly entity united in celebration, instead of the reality of a class-riven society, where Scotland ,at least, is increasingly disillusioned with the Union.
Just as Mrs Windsor and Carlo entertain the vilest of autocratic monarchs like the King of Bahrain, everything is seen to be so rosy because of a simple flame, guarded by Beckham in what resembled several miners' lamps.
Am I alone in reacting against all the hype surrounding the Olympics?
In the past I have quite enjoyed watching the athletics, failed to see anything interesting in the football and longed for monarch-hunting to be made an official Olympic sport!
I am not British, however, and so have no team to support.
When I lived in England the people there considered themselves English (which was the same as British to them). When I moved to N.Ireland the last thing I wanted to be was British, which meant Loyalist Unionist to the core. When I worked in Germany I was infuriatingly called 'English' , because they didn't know Wales existed in a separate sense. When I returned to Wales, it was to another nation.
The whole controversy surrounding the football team has brought all this to the fore.
For me, it is fundamentally a question of political allegiance, not just the threats to the independence of the FAW.
There are plenty of arguments against Team GB, such as the utter irrelevance of Olympic football in the past and the obvious desire to sell tickets this time. From a purely footballing viewpoint, the new manager of Wales Chris Coleman has expressed his opposition because Wales actually play an important friendly a few days after the Olympic football final. Understandably, he doesn't want his key players, like Allen, Bale and Ramsey injured playing for this, in football terms, cowboy tournament.
For me, there are more singificant issues. I know players may be willing to see themselves as both British and Welsh, but I also know there are a lot of fans who don't.
This is heightened by the fact that there's no precedent in football for a British team. In rugby there are the Lions ( who do not interest me) and in cricket there are certainly fans from Wales who support England. But in all the years I've watched the Olympics, I've never known Welsh footie fans to show the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
Indeed, a lot of Welsh fans have a history of nonconformity which contrasts starkly with their rugby counterparts, who kow-tow to monarchy by wearing the three feathers on their shirts, sporting the saying 'Ich Dien', German for 'I serve'. Footie fans have consistently booed 'God Save The Queen' (an English republican friend joined in on one occasion) and often chanted 'Argentina!' at the time of the Falklands War.
As Carlo's image is being remade by Clarence House, expect his role to be inextricably tied in with the Olympics.
Will he light the final flame? Will he be presenting medals with a joke and a smile? Will he towel down Tom Daley after he does a medal-winning dive?
Every time you switch on the telly, there's the torch relay, starting at that little Celtic country of Cornwall (or is it a 'region'?) ,yet it'll be mostly driven by car, which you will not see.
Or there's Mrs Windsor greeting her very own armed forces, as Commander in Chief, before they're sent off to be killed or maimed in another pointless war like Iraq or Afghanistan.
Yes, the Jubilympics are this year's thing. Britain needs them. Just as it needs young working-class people desperate for anything (the Queen's Shilling) , because there's nothing back home except empty factories.
SMOKIN THE TORCH
It woz an ordinree day in May
an me, Welly an Scripo bin drinkin all day ;
Scripo wuz off of is face.
Somebuddy ud sol im speed
an ee wuz a manic pub screecher,
eyeballs poppin , ands like birds oppin.
The pub starts gettin fulla
an we ardly noticed, people buzzin
with - 'It's on its way!' 'It's comin!'
Jest as Scripo wuz doin
is famous impersonation of a woman givin birth,
ev'ryone charges f'r-a door like January Sales.
Welly moans - 'Not the fuckin Queen agen!'
I jump like I wuz pogoin ;
Scripo dodgin t the front before I cun stop im.
Nex moment, pleece escort, this athlete
oldin a ewge gold torch comes runnin.
But Scripo gets it all wrong.
Arf pissed, arf stoned, thinks it's a giant spliff,
grabs an shoves it in is gob
arfta shoutin - 'Tha's mine!'
As cops catch old of is coat
ee yells out - 'Ardest joint I ever smoked!'
Ee singed theyer eyeballs with-a flame!
They frogmarch im off an Welly starts singin
'God save the Queen, it's a fascist regime!'
ee gets arrested an I'm left alone.
In-a 'Merthyr' next week wuz the eadline
REPUBLICAN DRUNKARDS RUIN OLYMPIC RELAY!
an I made Scripo a You-tube sensation.
Ever since the joke was created for BBC comedy series 'Twenty Twelve' they have become very much a reality.
As Princess Horse, accompanied by 'sporting royalty' in the form of David Beckham (described as 'Sir David' in an effortless prophecy) dispatched the flame from its home in Greece and onto a plane, we immediately became aware of the link between monarchy and Olympics.
If this is this last year of the British Empire, then it's making a desperate attempt to make its presence felt everywhere.
There are now more Union flags in Merthyr than there were before Mrs Windsor's visit ( a place, incidentally, where there have no applications for street parties!) and the Jubilympics is behind them.
If I were to boycott all the shops parading the 'butcher's apron'- a flag which (thank goodness!) has no hint of Cymru on it - I'd be left to live off cheapo crisps and chocolate from the Pound Shops.
Window displays, books, bunting and even many grocery items are daubed with it. It's like the Council have been taken over by hardline Ulster Loyalists, determined to have their way.
So, there is this odd marriage between Jubilee and Olympics, suggesting Britain is one jolly entity united in celebration, instead of the reality of a class-riven society, where Scotland ,at least, is increasingly disillusioned with the Union.
Just as Mrs Windsor and Carlo entertain the vilest of autocratic monarchs like the King of Bahrain, everything is seen to be so rosy because of a simple flame, guarded by Beckham in what resembled several miners' lamps.
Am I alone in reacting against all the hype surrounding the Olympics?
In the past I have quite enjoyed watching the athletics, failed to see anything interesting in the football and longed for monarch-hunting to be made an official Olympic sport!
I am not British, however, and so have no team to support.
When I lived in England the people there considered themselves English (which was the same as British to them). When I moved to N.Ireland the last thing I wanted to be was British, which meant Loyalist Unionist to the core. When I worked in Germany I was infuriatingly called 'English' , because they didn't know Wales existed in a separate sense. When I returned to Wales, it was to another nation.
The whole controversy surrounding the football team has brought all this to the fore.
For me, it is fundamentally a question of political allegiance, not just the threats to the independence of the FAW.
There are plenty of arguments against Team GB, such as the utter irrelevance of Olympic football in the past and the obvious desire to sell tickets this time. From a purely footballing viewpoint, the new manager of Wales Chris Coleman has expressed his opposition because Wales actually play an important friendly a few days after the Olympic football final. Understandably, he doesn't want his key players, like Allen, Bale and Ramsey injured playing for this, in football terms, cowboy tournament.
For me, there are more singificant issues. I know players may be willing to see themselves as both British and Welsh, but I also know there are a lot of fans who don't.
This is heightened by the fact that there's no precedent in football for a British team. In rugby there are the Lions ( who do not interest me) and in cricket there are certainly fans from Wales who support England. But in all the years I've watched the Olympics, I've never known Welsh footie fans to show the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
Indeed, a lot of Welsh fans have a history of nonconformity which contrasts starkly with their rugby counterparts, who kow-tow to monarchy by wearing the three feathers on their shirts, sporting the saying 'Ich Dien', German for 'I serve'. Footie fans have consistently booed 'God Save The Queen' (an English republican friend joined in on one occasion) and often chanted 'Argentina!' at the time of the Falklands War.
As Carlo's image is being remade by Clarence House, expect his role to be inextricably tied in with the Olympics.
Will he light the final flame? Will he be presenting medals with a joke and a smile? Will he towel down Tom Daley after he does a medal-winning dive?
Every time you switch on the telly, there's the torch relay, starting at that little Celtic country of Cornwall (or is it a 'region'?) ,yet it'll be mostly driven by car, which you will not see.
Or there's Mrs Windsor greeting her very own armed forces, as Commander in Chief, before they're sent off to be killed or maimed in another pointless war like Iraq or Afghanistan.
Yes, the Jubilympics are this year's thing. Britain needs them. Just as it needs young working-class people desperate for anything (the Queen's Shilling) , because there's nothing back home except empty factories.
SMOKIN THE TORCH
It woz an ordinree day in May
an me, Welly an Scripo bin drinkin all day ;
Scripo wuz off of is face.
Somebuddy ud sol im speed
an ee wuz a manic pub screecher,
eyeballs poppin , ands like birds oppin.
The pub starts gettin fulla
an we ardly noticed, people buzzin
with - 'It's on its way!' 'It's comin!'
Jest as Scripo wuz doin
is famous impersonation of a woman givin birth,
ev'ryone charges f'r-a door like January Sales.
Welly moans - 'Not the fuckin Queen agen!'
I jump like I wuz pogoin ;
Scripo dodgin t the front before I cun stop im.
Nex moment, pleece escort, this athlete
oldin a ewge gold torch comes runnin.
But Scripo gets it all wrong.
Arf pissed, arf stoned, thinks it's a giant spliff,
grabs an shoves it in is gob
arfta shoutin - 'Tha's mine!'
As cops catch old of is coat
ee yells out - 'Ardest joint I ever smoked!'
Ee singed theyer eyeballs with-a flame!
They frogmarch im off an Welly starts singin
'God save the Queen, it's a fascist regime!'
ee gets arrested an I'm left alone.
In-a 'Merthyr' next week wuz the eadline
REPUBLICAN DRUNKARDS RUIN OLYMPIC RELAY!
an I made Scripo a You-tube sensation.
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