IT wasn’t just the regular plod they needed at Glastonbury this weekend – the Irony Police should’ve been in there making mass arrests as well.
’Cos, one minute, someone calling himself Bob Vylan was leading like-minded imbeciles in a “death to the IDF” chant, on the Beeb’s iPlayer.
AFPThese double-standards are relatively easy to laugh off, obviously, but it’s impossible to do the same with Bob Vylan[/caption]
The next, singer Brandi Carlile was gazing out at thousands of happy antisemitic faces, on BBC2, telling them: “It’s hard to imagine this many peace-loving, free- thinking people in one place.”
Hard, not to mention impossible, because Glastonbury is a venue that divides the nation into two clearly defined camps.
Mutual grovelling
There are those attendees who, despite being some of the most mystical, ethereal, genre-defining, middle-class bellends on the planet, clearly think both they and the festival are a bit special.
And there are about 68million other Britons whose feelings range from mild disdain to a loathing so passionate I was half wondering if the Red Arrows could be fitted with Sidewinder missiles the next time they perform a ceremonial Glastonbury fly-past.
There are many sound reasons to feel this way, of course, but I’ll start with the figures, which tell us there are between 400 to 500 BBC staff at the event who, at a cost of several million licence-funded pounds, swamp us with more than 200 hours of coverage and contribute significantly to the 2,000 tonnes of rubbish it creates, without ever easing up on the environmental lectures.
Levels of tolerance will naturally vary according to musical tastes and the line-up.
What’s always certain is that the edge will never be taken off proceedings by the BBC team, who are deeply flattered by the word “hosts”.
At best, they’re entourage members whose relentless sycophancy can collapse a whole segment in a gush of mutual grovelling, as was demonstrated by Jo Whiley and Raye on Saturday night.
“You’re going to walk on that stage and just nail it.”
“Can I just say, you look so beautiful again.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re a vision.”
“Give me a hug.”
As nauseating as their manner is, the thing that really repulses us about Glastonbury is the overwhelming hypocrisy which was showcased at the Shangri-La garden, on Saturday.
An area previously dedicated to anti-capitalist protests, at the £400-a-pop weekend, where someone called Angie Bual explained this year’s display was driven by the feeling “trees and plants move over borders, through the sea and so do people and they bring diversity.
“So we celebrate biodiversity and multiculturalism,” while seated just a few metres away from Glastonbury’s security fence.
GettyBrandi Carlile was gazing out at thousands of happy antisemitic faces, on BBC2, telling them: ‘It’s hard to imagine this many peace-loving, free-thinking people in one place’[/caption]
A security fence, incidentally, that’s guarded by ex-SAS members who protect festival-goers’ over-entitled arses from an influx of the herd they so clearly despise.
These double-standards are relatively easy to laugh off, obviously, but it’s impossible to do the same with Bob Vylan, who turned out to be some hyphenated vegan called Pascal Robinson-Foster, which probably explains why he’s filled with so much self- loathing.
The problem didn’t begin, however, with Pascal and his idiot mate on Saturday.
It started on October 7, 2023, when Hamas murdered 1,195 Israelis, including 378 at a very similar gathering to Glastonbury called the Nova music festival.
Instead of the natural revulsion and sympathy any decent human would feel, though, the political Left, including significant chunks of Glastonbury’s artists and crowd, traded in their moral compasses for a few slogans and sided with the murderers and rapists.
A lot of weasel words have followed since things came to an inevitable head at the weekend, including an apology from Glastonbury’s nepo baby boss Emily Eavis, who said Pascal, “crossed the line. There’s no place for antisemitism, hate speech or incitement to violence at Glastonbury”.
You have to ask, then, why did she book him and fellow cretins Kneecap who, with the best will in the world, were never going to encore with a cover version of Hava Nagila.
We should take at face value, though, the pre-festival arrogance of her dad Michael Eavis, who clearly has zero understanding of public- service broadcasting or how its concept of neutrality works, but was at least being honest when he said anyone who disagrees with Glastonbury’s politics: “Can go somewhere else.”
A bit rich, given that we fund the coverage.
If Eavis has the remotest conscience about the Beeb, however, he’ll understand it cannot go on playing whack-a-mole with all of this huge event’s political crazies.
No matter how many safeguards you put in place, it’s a game they cannot win, and if the BBC is to survive at all it’s Glastonbury that needs to go “somewhere else” and hopefully crawl back under the rock where it truly belongs.
You’ve delighted us long enough, thanks very much.
Unexpected morons in the bagging area
TIPPING Point, Ben Shephard: “The first summer Olympics in modern history was held in 1896 in which Greek capital city?”
Malik: “Rome.”
The Finish Line, Roman Kemp: “In a famous sea shanty, what is the Billy O’ Tea?”
Mickey: “Billy Ocean.”
Ben Shephard: “Which band from Liverpool had a UK number one in 1969 with The Ballad Of John And Yoko?”
Malik: “Pass.”
And if you’re also struggling with that one, here’s a clue: It’s not Atomic Kitten.
ISLE OF CHATTER POXES . . .
ONE surprising result of the Glastonbury fallout is that it’s helped me see Love Island in a slightly new light, on the grounds that the ITV2 crowd does at least feature one vaguely likeable human being.
He is Tommy, the 22-year-old landscape gardener, from Herts, who’s thoughtful, honest, faithful and almost totally invisible to most of the girls, who prefer to throw themselves at one of the villa’s many arseholes, helping to create a series of love triangles and set a pattern for the entire summer.
Harrison, pictured, confessed to Toni that he shared a kiss with Helena on the terraceEroteme
Coupled-up Harrison very publicly kisses third-party Helena, so angry partner Toni asks: “Can I pull you for a chat?”
A scene witnessed by a hurt Helena who feels compelled to pull her love rival for “a chat”, thereby also forcing Harrison to pull Helena for “a chat”.
A “final” clear-the-air moment that’s followed by Toni pulling her for another chat, which then requires Harrison to pull devastated Toni for a clarification chat, where they end up kissing, leaving Helena with no other option than to ask Harrison: “Can I pull you for a chat?”
And so on and so on and so on. With almost no prospect of this hall of mirrors process ending any time soon. ’Cos I am reluctant to suggest the Love Island blokes are all irredeemably hormone-crazed and stupid, however . . .
Harrison has spent his entire adult life pronouncing the word “ar-chive” as if it’s a herb, and Ben thinks a posh menu is called “Aled Carte”, which it may well be at a French/Welsh fusion restaurant.
But, in the name of the big man, before they’re back in public circulation, I’d be very grateful if someone could pull them both for “a chat”.
TV Gold
THE slow-burning horror of BBC4’s Storyville: The Srebrenica Tape.
The much-missed Doddie Weir bringing the house down on Sky Sports’ repeat of Living With Lions.
The Glastonbury performances of Nile Rodgers, Ezra Collective and Neil Young doing Harvest Moon, that not even the venue and sound quality could ruin.
And Netflix’s masterpiece Dept Q, which featured some of the best acting of the year, from Matthew Goode as DCI Carl Morck, and managed to go nine whole episodes without a single outbreak of overbearing political correctness.
Another series would be hugely appreciated.
Random TV irritations
Shutterstock EditorialPolitical commentators have failed to spot the obvious signs that Rayner is a moron[/caption]
THE surprisingly large number of political commentators who’ve failed to spot the rather obvious signs Angela Rayner is a complete moron.
BBC staff giving Carlos Alcaraz’s name the Daffy Duck treatment in an attempt to sound Spanish. And the horrendous lyrics accompanying Wilkinson Sword’s new “hairy truth” advert for its Intuition razor: “Nips, lips, some on the back. Knees, toes, six on the crack.”
Crotch rash, grazes, pubic inflammation. You’ve just given us too much information.
Great sporting insights
CALLUM WILSON: “Inzaghi has just got his foot in the door with his feet under the table.”
Conor Coady: “Harvey Elliott has shut us up and made us talk about him.”
Jermain Defoe: “When you watch his movement he never makes one movement.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray)
Lookalike of the week
This week’s winner is Gary Lightbody from Snow Patrol, playing at Glastonbury, and Labour MP Anneliese Dodds
Sent in by Shane Allen, of Denbigh.
Great TV lies and delusions of the week
Deborah Meaden: “If only the world could live like Glastonbury, we’d be a lot happier.”
Big Weekend, Alison Hammond: “For 50 years, Lenny Henry’s made people laugh.”
Good Morning Britain, Kate Garraway: “Russell Kane says so many funny things happen to him he’s got too much material.”
And there’s a guy works down the chip shop swears he’s Elvis.
Meanwhile, back on his Kiwi Adventure, Noel Edmonds: “We’ve got to appreciate that we are surrounded by this sort of mist of invisible energy.
“One of the limitations of the human form is that we can’t see it, but your cat and your dog can see it.
“There are so many people who think you’re crazy if you talk this way about a rock having energy, but. . . .”
NURSE!
Sunday , the ITV2 continuity announcer: “Are you looking for a brand spanking new comedy from Jordan Gray?”
Then cut out the middle man and call 116 123. It’s the Samaritans you need.
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