We've all gone to look for America.

Byline: Denis Kilcommons

WE didn't have Proms when I was a lad. Children of my generation were just happy to leave school and go down the mine to work 94 hours week for tuppence a day and two hours off on Sunday to mix the batter for the Yorkshire Puddings in the days before Auntie Bessie's.

And that was just the girls. Today, every school has a Prom. Even primary schools, in some parts of the country, hold special events where kiddywinks put on their best frocks and bow ties to eat jelly and cake and parody their elder brothers and sisters on the dance floor. The Prom is a rites of passage that we have imported from America. They have a lot to answer for, Americans. They were late in two world wars and then dragged us into their war in the Middle East with hardly a by-your-leave. In the last 60 years we have been invaded by GIs, Coca Cola, McDonalds, nylon stockings (well, actually, I quite like nylon stockings), a Kentucky Colonel who filled our high streets with chicken and fries, and Halloween. And now 16-year-olds hire tuxedos and cocktail dresses and stretch limos and go off to the ball that marks the end of term and the start of college, adult life, work or dole queue. And it's not just Prom Nights.

We never had Mother's Day or Father's Day until they were imported from across the pond by marketing men who had seen how good these compulsory cash flows days were at bringing in the bucks. It's Mother's Day, you have to buy flowers, or chocolates, or lingerie or book a table for a family meal. It's Father's Day, you have to buy socks.

If we're not careful, we'll have all their other days, as well, and there are loads to choose from.

This month alone, the US have had Air Conditioning Appreciation Month, Family Reunion Month, Freedom From Fear of Speaking Month, International Blondie and Deborah Harry Month, International Women With Alopecia Month and National Share A Sunset With Your Lover Month.

These last two could be combined if a chap sat on Castle Hill to watch the sun go down as long as his girlfriend was bald.

Then there has been Restless Leg Syndrome Education and Awareness Week, Captive Nations Week and Rabbit Week.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit? I could rabbit on all day. And I will.

Today, for instance, is Gorgeous Grandma Day and Hot Enough For Ya Day and tomorrow will be Tell An Old Joke Day and National Day of the Cowboy.

Did you hear about the cowboy who wore paper underpants? He was done for rustling. Boom, boom! Saturday is Carousel Day, so we should all go merrily round, and also Thread the Needle Day, which should be done, on health and safety grounds, before the carousing starts. Monday it is Take Your Houseplant for a Walk Day, so I want no funny looks if you see me out with the dog AND a Philodendron Imperial Red (known as Phil, for short).

Then there is Barbie In A Blender Day, Walk on Stilts Day, Rain Day, National Milk Chocolate Day, and National Talk In An Elevator Day. And we're still in July!

Sadly, we have just missed I Forgot Day, International Chicken Wing Day, Stay Out of the Sun Day, Tell the Truth Day (which could have caused a few problems), Gruntled Workers Day, Yellow Pig Day, National Hug Your Kid Day and The Fourth of July.

But wait. What's this? The Yanks are not completely without culture or wit? I was amazed to discover that on this US list of dopey daftness, was Spoonerism Day, celebrated in memory of the Rev William Archibald Spooner, warden of New College, Oxford, who died in 1930. This was the learned chap had a gift for the accidental transposition of words with hilarious results, an error of speech that came to be known as Spoonerism.

"Three cheers for our queer old dean," he said, in honour of Queen Victoria. And no, I am not telling a lack of pies (pack of lies, get it?), for in one swell foop he could reduce an audience to tears of laughter. Or should that be leers of taffeta? Anyway, I think these American imports could do with a bit of Spoonering. Would Nom Prights be as popular? Or Wallowheen, which sounds like a festival of cheese and tulips in Antwerp? Which reminds me about the Dutch girl who wore inflatable shoes. I phoned her up for a date, but she'd popped her clogs. And Mothering Sunday would take on a whole new meaning as Smothering Monday. Watch out, ma. I'm coming home.

Of course, Americana will continue to thrive despite all my moans. Now, when is Birthington's Washday? Ah yes, third Monday in February. I'll mark it in my diary.

CAPTION(S):

* THEY'RE OVER HERE: John Wayne - he never wore paper underpants and, left, this is Deborah Harry Month

Article Details

Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Publication:	Huddersfield Daily Examiner (Huddersfield, England)
Date:	Jul 23, 2010
Words:	833
Previous Article:	Two sides to children; COMMENT The policy of honesty. The might of right. The expediency of principle.
Next Article:	Choice of belly dancing or the navy lark.