That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

I wish I had one of those weather-maps so I could superimpose lots of zigzag lines showing where I’ve been hiding this last sevendays. I truly do. But since other people’s tribulations are as interesting as their dreams or their children’s O Level results, I shan’t.

Hotel corridors smell. Their dining areas smell the whole thing merges into a great big fat hairy Trust House Forte hellhole with full English at the buffet breakfast bar upgraded school dinner in the Windsor function suite washed down with some filthy wine served by smiling courteous hatefilled Poles.

Young Polish are moderately goodlooking and yet somehow not. Have you noticed that? They are and they aren’t good looking. A puzzle to be solved. There’s no pretty ones. Striking ones. None that you would think “Hey, it would be nice to run off somewhere with that big thing.” They are Godamned averaged-out clones with moderately attractive physiognomies.

We let them down badly in the war.

Face fixed into rictus grins for my drinking fellows in the hotel bars oh all directors of this or that good suits good shoes no rubbish good smalltalk good talkers yet everyone of them living the life of a sad commercial traveller.

Yes BAe Systems (Bradley Fighting Vehicle among others) has decided to sell its share in Airbus, Rolls cancels opening of new Scottish repair facility, A380 delivery slips back again because airlines can’t make up their minds on options OR AI gave them too much choice in the first place and then the general turmoil of air travel but only FROM Britain.

Rightso, who’s for a snifter? Come on, don’t be shy.

Sing out there! What’ll it be?
I’m having one.

Too right I am.

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