Compared to being in prison it’s all right, I suppose.
At least it’s a holiday and you have an excuse – if you’re the sort of person who needs one – to eat and drink to excess, but it’s still crap, compared to what it used to be like.
Way back when. Auld lang syne. Yeah, I know. I sound like an old bore. What’s worse, people are starting to talk. The jury isn’t even out any more.
It’s not a fake by the way, it’s genuinely the man himself. Check out that unmistakable light tenor voice trilling its way through about a dozen verses of the famous ditty much loved by rugby players and other assorted dirty-minded topers.
Some of the verses are merely whimsical, a few are on the mildly coarse side but a couple are so downright filthy, you’re momentarily shocked to hear Ken singing them.
When I first lived abroad, one of the things I missed the most was tuning in to my favourite radio station and classic, timeless shows like ‘I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue’, ‘Just a Minute’ and, of course, ‘The Archers’.
In Colorado, as a matter of fact, more people backed easy access to the weed than voted for either of the two candidates, a situation which obviously says something quite profound about politics. (I’m not sure exactly what, but hopefully it’ll come to me when I’m a bit less baked.)
My local pub, The Albion Hotel, situated in the bucolic village of Swifts Creek Australia, is no different in this respect.
Our local resident expert diddy is a fella known as Wombat, not because he eats roots and leaves (no matter where you place the commas) but for a much more obvious and fundamental reason: he has a huge arse.