In times past when I strode across the blogosphere spraying my bile around like a mad ladies piss I used to try and post something a little more light hearted and pleasant on a Friday evening. As life is in one if its "doesn't suck too much periods" I am going to reintroduce this here rather than risk an aneurism trying to figure out the password to unlock what was the best blog since the day before time began.
The less retarded members of our readership (and authors) will note a mildly cocky tone to this post so far, that is due in part to the fact that I manage to get home to the manor every night these days and the family are now back permanently and things are going reasonably smoothly.
The same cannot be said for the omnishambles that currently serves as Queen Elizabeth the seconds loyal opposition in New Zealand, this also makes me less grumpy and is adding to my general feelings of mild calmness.
Another (but no less important) comforting influence is the fact that the RFU representative team are travelling along quite nicely and if things continue will probably get an opportunity to teach the antipodeans a thing or two at Eden park come the end of October. The fact that they are likely to do this without the worlds greatest ever rugby player makes the prospect even more exciting.
The last ingredient to my mood is the fact that I won 100 bucks today from a friend who bet me that the very next photo we see of the degenerate Darren Hughes would not include Helen Clark. He lost, I won. Cam Slater posted a photo of the ginga predator today standing next to the beast in New York. Tim. Pay me or I will blog your phone number, address and the photo.
Anyhoo. The karaoke component
First heard this at a party in Stotfold, Bedfordshire around 1981. Memorable for the music, industrial quantities of pernod and blackcurrant consumed and a particular person that (astonishingly) still speaks to me.
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