More on Landed Gentry
Last night, on my beloved Channel 4, I watched a program that Deborah the department secretary would have loved -- "The F***ing Fulfords."
They're exactly the sort of family Deborah wishes us to become. They're living in a giant stately home -- nobody said, but it looked 18th C. to me -- and the current head of the household is the 23rd Lord Fulford (if I'm remembering this right). (The title of the show came from the family's constant use of their favorite adjective, f***ing.) (Which, in the 23rd lord's case, was about every other word.)
The house is truly and no kidding falling apart. Some ancestor c. 1850 ran the family's fortunes into the ground, and every generation since has been trying to keep the place together.
The current generation is doing this by a constant stream of get-rich-quick schemes.
They bought a metal detector to see if any earlier inhabitants had dropped things out of their pockets. Yes, as it turns out -- 6 pence.
The lady of the house goes looking for treasure sometimes after tea -- there are still staircases and rooms and niches in the wall she hasn't gotten to yet.
They allowed the TV cameras to do a documentary. For money.
They let the BBC run cables under the ground. This netted them 165 pounds per annum, by the way. Pitiful, how exciting that was.
They even let groups come through for tours led by the lord of the manor himself. This involves a lot of hearing the adjective "f***ing," and hearing ghastly prejudiced jokes, whilst observing falling ceilings and rising damp. (Quite different from your usual stately home tour -- I'd like to go on one like this myself. No tea at the end, though, I think. Too scary.)
But by God, they're not applying for a grant, cause they don't want the taxpayers to be paying for their house and lands. And by God, the whole place is being handed on down to the oldest boy, just the way it's always been done. Lucky stiff.
Bushels of turnips, that's what they need.
(Sam, take note of the schemes they're using. These might come in handy at Bear's Retreat. Though you're clearly going to have to lose your genteel language, if you really want to be part of the Landed Gentry.)
*********************
By the way. Those of you who followed my research trip last year may wonder why I'm not discussing Big Brother this year. That is because it is boring this year. Snipe snipe snipe. Bitch bitch bitch. The inhabitants of Big Brother aren't nearly as interesting this year as they were last year.
Nevertheless. They're on Channel 4. I watch.
I just don't blog them.
They're exactly the sort of family Deborah wishes us to become. They're living in a giant stately home -- nobody said, but it looked 18th C. to me -- and the current head of the household is the 23rd Lord Fulford (if I'm remembering this right). (The title of the show came from the family's constant use of their favorite adjective, f***ing.) (Which, in the 23rd lord's case, was about every other word.)
The house is truly and no kidding falling apart. Some ancestor c. 1850 ran the family's fortunes into the ground, and every generation since has been trying to keep the place together.
The current generation is doing this by a constant stream of get-rich-quick schemes.
They bought a metal detector to see if any earlier inhabitants had dropped things out of their pockets. Yes, as it turns out -- 6 pence.
The lady of the house goes looking for treasure sometimes after tea -- there are still staircases and rooms and niches in the wall she hasn't gotten to yet.
They allowed the TV cameras to do a documentary. For money.
They let the BBC run cables under the ground. This netted them 165 pounds per annum, by the way. Pitiful, how exciting that was.
They even let groups come through for tours led by the lord of the manor himself. This involves a lot of hearing the adjective "f***ing," and hearing ghastly prejudiced jokes, whilst observing falling ceilings and rising damp. (Quite different from your usual stately home tour -- I'd like to go on one like this myself. No tea at the end, though, I think. Too scary.)
But by God, they're not applying for a grant, cause they don't want the taxpayers to be paying for their house and lands. And by God, the whole place is being handed on down to the oldest boy, just the way it's always been done. Lucky stiff.
Bushels of turnips, that's what they need.
(Sam, take note of the schemes they're using. These might come in handy at Bear's Retreat. Though you're clearly going to have to lose your genteel language, if you really want to be part of the Landed Gentry.)
*********************
By the way. Those of you who followed my research trip last year may wonder why I'm not discussing Big Brother this year. That is because it is boring this year. Snipe snipe snipe. Bitch bitch bitch. The inhabitants of Big Brother aren't nearly as interesting this year as they were last year.
Nevertheless. They're on Channel 4. I watch.
I just don't blog them.
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