Writhing around in bed, sweating disdain from every pore. Kicking off the covers only to haul them over your sorry carcass again seconds later. Moaning and groaning under the immense weight of your own self-loathing. Fevers are not particularly pleasant. But alas we insist on attributing them to our national events. Surely somewhere within our amalgamation of other languages, somewhere within the pages of the Oxford English Dictionary, there are alternative words with altogether less negative connotations than this…
Fever – noun
an abnormally high body temperature, usually accompanied by shivering, headache and in severe instances; delirium.
I’m definitely delirious. My mind is melting as a direct result of the opposing reports pertaining to public interest. Judging from this Entertainment Tonight promo America is in the midst of a Royal pandemic. Hormonal hurricanes are tearing up the tarmac, leaving a torrent of overly expectant women in their wake.
Despite the constant coverage and perpetual, hysterical, hyperbolic promos, polls in the New York Times suggest that Americans don’t really care.
According to the majority of the world’s media, Royal Fever has not just gripped our nation, but every nation. Yet polls and soundbites from the archetypal ‘man in the street’ whom so obligingly represents us all, suggest we couldn’t give a shit, and he’s right.
Unfortunately we’re going to be force-fed it whether we want it or not. Come tomorrow your jaw will be snapped open and Monarchist promulgations will be poured down your throat until you can practically taste the sovereign state.
One feels like a simple peasant desperately attempting to complete one’s daily routine. Only to be disturbed by the imperial leviathan standing over me, prodding me with a giant diamond encrusted, metaphorical sceptre.
Hey. Hey. Do something. Do something. Hey, do something. React to me. React. Dance pleb. Dance!
And dance we will, because despite having to endure the monarchy monotony of April 29th, we’ve been granted another bank holiday. But guess what – we’re still at the bottom of the pile. Even Bosnia has more bank holidays than us. What the hell have Bosnians got to celebrate? We should construct a campaign to control more aristocratic activity. Be it marriage or assassination, whatever constitutes us being issued with more days off. Let’s make it happen.
To me it seems the media is trying to stir up interest that doesn’t really exist. At least, not in the volume they hope. Advertisements for the Royal Wedding coverage have been relentless. All the broadcasters and channels are crawling all over each, vying for your eyes. The problem is, despite this being a hugely important event in our national history, in Britain we’re simply not susceptible to epidemics of enthusiasm. I’m no doctor, but I reckon what the world’s media has diagnosed as Royal Fever is little more than a Royal Rhinovirus. If you think you have a fever you’re a hypochondriac. Take some decongestion tablets and shut the fuck up.
Monarchists claim they’re a part of us. They’re a part of our history. They’re not part of me.But with media coverage this invasive I fear that the entire Royal family may soon be inside me. To date I remain fever-free. But how long can that realistically last? Coverage has been crawling all over my television for so long now it’d be a miracle if I didn’t contract some sort of mild infection. Or at the very least a massive sense of self-unimportance.
But it doesn’t stop there. The media is able to delve into far more fickle aspects of the occasion than simply the ceremony.
What’s more dangerous than actual wedding coverage is the coverage of celebrity involvement. Who’s invited. Who’s not invited. Who gives a right Royal fuck. I cannot fathom why it matters who is in attendance. Realistically there are but three people that need to be there; Prince William, Kate Middleton and the
Interest in the monarchy seems to wane as generations pass. We the youth, couldn’t care any less. We’ve hit our reverse terminal velocity of care. We’ve simply run out of give-a-shit. We’re all too busy lurking in dimly lit areas with our hoods up, stabbing elderly dogs to care about the rest of the world anyway.
Despite the disinterest the Royal Wedding is predicted to pull in 2 billion viewers worldwide. Making it the most watched event in televisual history. The temptation to spectate is strong, but I suspect the temptation to sleep may be stronger.
The only thing that could increase my interest in this occasion is after all this media coverage, after all the love and happiness, the hope and the joy, the fairytale relationship and the worldwide excitement, is if they finally got to the vows, and Kate said no.
That would be worth every penny of the tax I didn’t pay towards it.
Article first published as Royal Fever? More Like Royal Rhinovirus on Technorati.