When Leo Varadkar first sent three career diplomats (Yevande, Maura and Greg) to break into the Isle of Love, our last best hope for meaningful Anglo-Irish cooperation, it seemed like a long shot.
But what option was there? It was Love Island or infiltration into one of the other British protectorates – Gibraltar, Parks Center in Longford, Blesbridge. Agents 1 and 2 may have failed, but the man known to us as "Greg" has already been distributed all over the UK and co-owns £ 50,000, the sum that will make the richest man in Britain come in October, and it will come in handy when there are border guards who have to be bribed and the diesel purchased from Ra.
In a previous episode, Agent 2 (Maura) fulfilled her own mission – to teach the British public that Irish names are pronounced differently – during a segment where the elderly could visit the island. At first, this reminded me of the lifestyle at Logan's Run, where the youth of a future dystopian town meet the old man, played by Peter Ustinov. At the time, I thought they were ex-racers, outdated by life in the neighborhood, returning to warn their friends not to watch the news when it came out.
In fact, these doomed souls were relatives of the islanders who had come to appreciate the romantic arrangements of their relatives in a way that seemed to me to be unjustifiably supportive, coming from people who grew up with only ground stations.
Highlights included Molly-May agreeing with her lusty relatives that Tommy was "cut by God." ("God has no part in this, Molly-May," I called out.) And the life in which Curtis, the moronic handsome man of Maura, had to repeatedly remind his mother that Irish names had their own pronunciation, at least until October 31, when all bets are off.
"My-yer-ra," she said.
"Maura," Curtis said.
"My-uh-raah," his mother said.
"Mau-ra," Curtis said.
"My-yer-ra," his mother said.
"Mau-ra," Curtis said.
Stop it, both of you. I believe it is pronounced She-Ra. The long and the short is that the whole interaction was a resumption of all British trade talks and Maura is a legend and a credit to us.
It was just the cherry on the cake. The victory of Greg and Amber ultimately gave Leo a useful metaphor to train historically illiterate Britons in international trade. Now he can say, "Would you like to put a solid boundary between Greg and Amber? Wouldn't you prefer a soft frame? "
And then, when we all start boiling, he can say, “I didn't mean that. You are very disgusting. "
And then we can take it seriously and say, "Actually, Leo, sex is the last thing we think about now when we watch Love Island. By the time we watched the final program, we were completely desensitized to abs and bikinis and asses and bakers. These fleshy orange creatures are just puppies with big eyes. "
Yes, despite all the humorous, rattling, kissing, half-naked horseplay, Love Island feels strangely chaste to me. I can't even remember what usually happens when hunters in the wild spend their mandatory two months in court. So I do some research elsewhere on television and make up this story: "Males turn red and start carving a hole in the gravel bed. The female eventually lays her eggs [in the hole] and male arrows to fertilize them. "Well, this is a description of sex with RTÉ salmon. An excellent show for dissecting animals how animals work (Monday), but I think it's close enough.
I can only conclude that some footage of old gladiator films was added for laughs
It is only when I watch the final couples, all dressed up for a fantastic farewell shingle in the last episode, that I realize how depraved I am this year. "Look at them there," I say. "All dressed in people's clothes."
Ovie says he feels like James Bond because of the clothes. The sweet, exclamatory Tommy goes even further: "I feel like a prime minister," he says, and while a few years ago that would have sounded like a cruelly ironic joke, I now present campaign managers across the UK scratching Tommy from Love Island? "On a napkin, then she stared at her for a few hours while drinking whiskey and spinning a revolver.
Poetry in slow motion
The four women advance to their friends very slowly because of the unusual weight of the clothes (my wife insists that this is simply a "slow motion effect"). All of this is part of the night's final declarations of love, in which the other islanders thrill each other with the power of words. Fortunately, Greg is pre-loaded with a poem given to him by the Ministry of Culture, Heritage and Gelshtaht: "The Perfect Balance of Honesty and Sasa," he intoned. "And, of course, we can't forget about your magnificent ass."
Of course, this is from Seamus Heaney (we all did it for leaving Cert). And the reciprocal commitment of the hanket to fuck is strangely moving. At the end of the day, there is no dry eye in the UK, either because they are crying or because they have torn their eyeballs out of their nests in despair. Then the different hook members all dance terribly and jump in the pool (like salmon!).
Before long, the high priestess of the Louvre Caroline Flack was among them, dressed in elegant rags in front of a lively crowd and a swimming pool with fire. She interviews various finalists about their "travels", feeding on their vitality before presenting us with a summary of the season so far. This seems to take several hours. I don't remember half of it, and I can only conclude that some footage of old gladiator films was added for laughs.
Curtis and Maura are eliminated first by public vote (Mo-yer, that's right), and then bye to Ovie and India and Tommy and Molly-May and their damn baby elephant Eli Belly ("Eli Corem from Isle of Love? "Writes a depressed bar campaign manager. And so Greg and Amber are crowned Love Island winners and it is Greg who takes the envelope that has a check of 50,000 pounds in it. Flack it he asks if he'll share this with Amber.
"No way, British!" He cries, jumping over the wall to where Leo Varadkar is waiting in his old biplane (government plane). They went before Flack could ascend into the sky and chase them. Good man, Greg. You are our last hope.