In a world of stupid people watching other stupid people making gutteral spasms so that they eventually sing songs better than electronically vocally altered originals, it was unusual to watch Jeremy (ahh, don’t kill me) Irons learning to play the fiddle and not just learning it, but throwing himself into it with such gusto. I rarely have seen such an honest reality show as this one on TG4 from the land of munchkins, rabbits and Bass-stained ladies.
This weekend another Dayvid Beckham Day was coughed up like rotten phlegm. There is something really hideous about that man and his pouting piece of rotting flesh wife. They appear to be following the same path as the horrible Hamiltons. People are so dumb now that this guy moves to a football club for three months and they’ll try and squeeze even more scuzz from the Beckham brand. When he eventually quits pretending to be a footballer, don’t be surprised if a family reality show will be foisted upon us. Fuck him and Fuck his wife, they aren’t necessary for our development.
Watching Jeremy Irons dressed like some kind of famine refugee and walking slowly around weird trad-musicland estates was genuinely reassuring. He wasn’t bigging himself up. No silly poses. He’s Jeremy Irons and he could probably kill you in so many gruesome ways, but no, he wants to fiddle. The thrill of experiencing something new was the point of it and he can wake up every morning knowing that no matter how much money and photo albums those Beckham monsters have, he has enriched his soul a little. But, saying all that, don’t be surprised to find dead bodies littered all over his pink mansion. Don’t be surprised!!!