Damn, it's hot.I'm of to the dusty far-off again, for a couple of weeks of sand, vipers and stinking insects.
It's unreasonably hot here. I miss air conditioning.
Posts when I can.
Is this the face of rap? NO! I'm not sure what it is the face of. When I take my glasses off, it looks suspiciously the the top of an unbaked ham pot pie.
Knighthood used to mean something; the laurels for the gratuitously mangley capture of a French man-of-war, or the desperate struggle against overwhelming waves of pissed-off, machete wielding indigenes.
Yet just try to take a French ship these days, or defend the flag from the slathering, ululating, Italian hordes of Long Island; and the Police will arrest you as soon as dammit.
On the other hand, write a catchy tune or two and be willing to wear a sequined feather pinafore while prancing about like a wallaby with a hot pepper suppository, and you can slap a “Sir” in front of your name.
I say we round up these poncey quasi-musical types and, by gum, make them earn their knight hoods.
Put them in scratchy red woolens, hand them an Enfield and a bayonet, and send them to the dusty far-off to reclaim some God-forsaken third-World shite hole for the Empire.
I recommend New Jersey.
(* I shall be beaten for this, and rather severely, I might add.)
And that's the way I likes it.