Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne are the sun towards which both Britain and America reach tropistically.
This close-knit family with three children shows that even in class-ridden Britain it’s possible to start from humble beginnings (Ozzy’s were humbler than Sharon’s) and end up with a fortune approaching a billion pounds.
Ozzy is a British heavy-metal singer who became a big hit in the States back in the seventies. On stage he pioneered such creative artistic techniques as loading a live goat with dynamite and blowing it up. Presumably his refined artistry made front-row seats cheaper than any other.
He’d also bite heads off various animals, mostly reptiles, and do all sorts of other things one has become accustomed to expect from modern performers searching for the ultimate artistic truth (I’ll spare you the details not to spoil your appetite for a week).
Off-stage, Ozzy once upset Texans by urinating on the wall of the Alamo, a fort in San Antonio that has some residual sentimental value for everyone who saw the eponymous film.
Ozzy was arrested but soon released, which went against the public demand for summary execution. “Folks who piss on the Alamo must be shoat,” was how the demand was enunciated.
Unlike Ozzy, whose ambitions are mostly artistic and pecuniary (these days they are one and the same), his wife also aims for social elevation. And Sharon has correctly identified obtaining a damehood as a useful step along the way.
The prospective Dame Sharon, one of the brightest stars in the firmament of reality TV, is prepared to go rather far in pursuit of her ennoblement or, depending on your vantage point, sink rather low.
Sharon has figured out that the way to the title lies through Prince Charles’s heart, or rather some other parts of his anatomy.
On Monday she divulged the details to American TV viewers: “I want a title. They call it a Dame … You just have to s**k his d**k.”
In case the respective spouses might feel left out, Sharon was prepared to be generous about sharing and caring: “He [Ozzy] can f**k Camilla while I’m with Charles.”
I don’t know exactly how the royal spouses have reacted to the implicit proposal, though I doubt that any reciprocity is on the cards.
But someone ought to tell Sharon that, though her desire to move up in life is perfectly consistent with British and especially American values, she has got the details wrong.
She should direct her attentions to our top politicians, not the heir to the throne. Nor does she really have to go all the way – just kissing their backsides would be sufficient.
Lamentably Sharon missed her best chance, for Tony Blair is no longer in office. Tony, you see, knew all about the importance of nobility, which is why he created 203 peers during his time in office.
Some of those noble gentlemen were Ozzy’s colleagues, for Tony had a weakness for pop music. Or perhaps he had a weakness for coming across as a pop-music lover, which is mandatory for any aspiring politician.
Can you imagine Osbourne fans voting for an MP (or a congressman) who prefers Bach to pop? If you can’t, then you realise that no such person can ever be elected. Professing affection for some sort of satanic perversion going by the name of music is a must for a career in public service.
For the Osbournes (or their moral and aesthetic equivalents), with their vile, unspeakable vulgarity, are the icons of our time. They cater to their public’s tastes, and they know exactly what those tastes are.
“Every nation,” said Joseph de Maistre, “gets the kind of government it deserves.” Quite. And also the kind of artists and TV personalities.