By: Hung One on.

God, Jesus H. Christ, long distance plane travel is boring, but I’m coming, home, yes,  coming, ho, ho, ho, hmmm, yes coming, ohh, ahh, oh yes [Stop, cut, Voice here, Look Sandy please don’t divert off the story with this silly innuendo about sexual experiences, okay? Otherwise none of my friends will visit this website, do you understand me?] [Okay, okay, I’ll stick to the story, sheez, I’m starting to get square bracket phobia] Anyway I’m headed home back to the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle, a Trotters, my mates, can’t wait. Belinda left a few days earlier after a phone call from Glenda, her big sister, “Belinda, get home, Merv wants us to clean up the pub and anyway I’m sure you’ve had enough of him”

I enter the bar and am in heaven. Astyages is in the corner in his wheelchair due to his broken leg, “Sandy” he roars “You old bastard, Merv a pint for the good Father, put it on Emmjay’s tab”. “Thank you my dear poet, how the devil are you?” “Yes good Father although there are strange things afoot here in the shire, oops, sorry, wrong story, no everything’s fine Sandy. Now is that right that England won the last test by 200 runs? Sorry, what was that Sandy?” Okay, okay. Astyages and Jayell are in fits of laughter over their triumph.

Gez and Helvi come over and slap me on the back nearly knocking out my false teeth that I borrowed from Emmjay in London. “Good to see you old man, how’s the world?” “Stuffed Gez” I reply “No Trotters Ale and the Aussies lost the Ashes”. “Angela’s Ashes Sandy? I’ll loan you my copy, pipes in Helvi. “Different set of Ashes Helvi, thanks anyway” I retort.

Merv approaches “Sandy, you dickhead, what happened at the Oval? Thought you was goin’ to streak? Save the game and all that.” Slight problem with timing, I mean I didn’t know that a Test could be over before five days, five days of tedium I might add. “Got busy Merv” I meekly replied, “Oh well, shit happen Sandy, wedges?” says Merv as he proffers some wedges. Hmmm, granny’s wedges, I’ve a penchant for wedges, especially vegemite and herring flavour, “Bewdy Merv” I splutter as I cram in a gob full.

“Hey Sandy” Merv prompts “That Bish bloke, comes around here sometimes looking for you, mate, what actually is his name?” The Bish, oh no, not the Bish, looking for me, isn’t he on holidays? “The Bishop”? I inquire, “Yeah, The Bishop?” Merv presses “Bishop” I say, “Yeah, that’s right Sandy, the Bishop” Merv looks puzzled, “Bishop” I reply, “Pardon?” [Stop, cut it right there, Voice here again, for fuck sake Merv, you single digit IQ  knuckle dragging Neanderthal, Sandy’s trying to tell you that the Bishop’s name is Bishop, you tool, an amoeba has more brains than you] “Bishop Bishop” The bar roars with laughter. Bishop Bishop how terrible is that. Warrigal, who has been sitting patiently and is spitting out spurts of beer “Yeah I met a copper once by the name of Constable, Constable Constable”. Well the bar is alight now. Tears are rolling down cheeks and hands are delving into pockets for tissues. Algernon, who has been laughing so hard his face has turned red “Hey what about that guy in Catch 22, Major Major” The bar cracks up with laughter. Tutu, Glenda and Helvi decide to adjourn to the ladies lounge. “Sergeant Sergeant” “Judge Judge” “Richard Dick!” Ah yes the Trotters Ale is working a treat, no antidote needed here, these are my people, and to quote Steely Dan, I’m home at last, home at last….