Here's a sad sight - this browned-off Christmas tree was put out for collection on the twelfth night morning, and is still there now, over half-way through April.
Maybe it is the plastic pot that they object to. The refuse collectors are very picky in this part of the world. They drive around in a huge crusher truck which has the message, 'Warning - Loaders at rear'. The first time I saw it, I misread it as 'Loafers' at rear, but that is because my mother trained me to look down upon the lower classes from an early age, so that now I have to fight the impulse, so naturally does it come to me.
I am often surprised when I learn from people who get to know me well enough to admit it, that I sometimes initially come over as an aristocrat who has fallen on hard times, but I put this down to misinterpreting the behaviour of someone who is unjustifiably self-assured, even when talking bollocks fifty percent of the time as I usually do.
My mother always insisted on the biggest Christmas tree - cut or uprooted from out own private woodland - that my father could struggle into the house with, so I also look down on this little, withered rejection which even the rubbish men ignore.
The ceilings in our house were quite high, and one year our tree was so tall that the top twelve inches had to be bent over to accommodate it. The poor fairy had a hell of a time. It was in a pot with roots, and at the end of the festivities it was re-planted. By next year it was about twenty-five feet high, so was put out to grass.
Anyway, what am I doing talking about Christmas when it is an Easter bank-holiday with unusually fine weather going on outside?
I must have drifted off, like you will have if you have got this far. As a special treat and reward, I am going to show you a rare picture of me aged 21, which gives you an idea of how my bored disinterest in everything around me is so often misunderstood. I almost thought I would have made a good Mad Boy for the Hattatts, but it's the wrong sort of madness.
Note the Brian May haircut, but at least I don't still wear it like this:
This is who Jack@ thinks I look like.