Carry On

Because we live under the gestapo of Britains Got Talent and all, tonight including almost unwatchable pseudo burlesque, it was a relief to be distracted from marking by 'Carry on Girls' only the other afternoon. Carry On films, especially the later ones, are a kind of absurd plank to Englishness, a real burlesque. In the disturbance of the seventies, dirty old perverts and big tits sliding out of silver bikini's in cat fights with donkeys in bad hotels by the seaside made it under the nine o clock bench mark with no difficulty at all. I noted with distaste today that Ms Bourbon made the cover of the silly papers in prospect of doing nothing of interest at all. If somebody got up on Britains got talent to do a cat fight in silver bikini's with big tits and a donkey, I would be moved to vote. Donkey plus fulsome bird, what a combination, a childlike love for Eeyore meets the disturbance of adulthood, that's complex and simple at the same time.
I was 13, I was on a camping holiday in godforsaken St Davids with mum, dad and the dog. Everybody was miserable. It was raining, we went to the pictures. Thank you Lord. For me such scenes are Oedipal. I think 'Dawn' here (otherwise to be found as 'Dink' in 007's Goldfinger as the masseuse patted most unpolitically on the arse in the opening sequence) is one Margaret Nolan/Kennedy (whatever) and from what I can read in minutes off the internet but what in the old days would take years of PHD research, she's one hell of a lady. For one she did plenty of nude stuff in the days before her 007 debut, very raunchy and well available for you to peruse. And in the end after it all she retired to Spain to love dogs and recycling. A1. Now she makes art collages of her previous beautiful portraits which I can buy, and will, for £110, and they're not unlike those of Heartfield.
I'm not sure why Margaret isn't as celebrated as the Amanda Barry or Honor Blackman. Sure, they had more lines, but nobody had more of an effect, at least on me.




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