Summer Holiday

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Who has seen the film ‘Summer Holiday’ starring Cliff Richard? Does it even exist? Check it out on Wikipedia and let me know. Fetch me a cup of hot ’bena and a fig roll while you’re at it, would you? Go on, don’t be a rotter. Here is a review (in the unliteralest possible sense of the word) of Summer Holiday.

Hey, lil’ beatnik! Don’t look so down! The world is too much with us, it is true. But it’s summer time. And the holiday bus is coming. Yes, there’s room for you. We’re just a big family on the holiday bus. One big family. But let me tell you about the driver. He’s a very special man. He can show you the way. He showed me the way. I was so blind, but Cliff helped me and loved me. He’s tuned in, man. Real in and so far out it freaks my mind into little pieces. Cliff is our father, our teacher and our lover. He drives the big red bus of love. And you must get on.

When we get to the holiday place we will have ice creams and play games. What games do we have? Take your pick: skittles, badminton, Buckaroo. But our favourite game is one that Daddy Cliff made up called ‘Jumpin’ Jesus’. It’s a blast. Cliff blindfolds us and suspends sumptuous furry plums from the ceiling. Then he shouts ‘Jump, jumpin’ Jesus, Jump!’ and we leap for the delicious pendent plums. The Grand Cliff films the game while he sings songs about Jesa breathily into the microphone. When it is finished we all laugh and sigh on the floor together. You will like it. I can tell that it will be your bag.

There are some rules however. You must not fidget or smirk during Cliff’s tennis-themed sermons. When he tells you that the Lord is a swoonsome umpire and we are just his sweet-ass ballboys you’d better dig it and dig it deep. Once we had this ditsy little broad called Fanifer Griskets with us, but she was dangerous and of the devil’s pouch. Blessed Cliff was explaining how the strawberries they sell at Wimbledon could show you the face of God and give you insane sexual power, just like him. Fanifer must have been possessed by Beelzebub or some shit because she snickered all out and up in father Cliff’s serene yet imposing face. Now she’s repenting in the cellar with the other bad apples. Sir Cliff had no choice. The moral is, my friend, watch your step and follow the path of the Children of Cliff. You’ll have a great time.

Here he comes, here he comes! Join me children, sing! All together now: ‘We’re all going on a summer holiday, we’re all going for a week or two…’

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One Response to “Summer Holiday”

  1. johnlebaptiste Says:

    This seems horribly prescient now. Damn my horrible prescience.

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