Resolution

With apologies to Damon Runyon

It is New Year’s Day and I find myself in my local hostelry. As this is not an unusual occurrence and is quite the thing for me I give it not another minute’s thought. In fact I am relaxed about it. As the afternoon is progressing I am becoming more relaxed and could even be described as laid-back.

Of course, one small thought is eating away at the back of my mind and that is that my ever-loving gal and my ankle-biters may require my presence back at the homestead. I decide that this thought is best left at the back of my mind where it can keep company with some of the other ideas that I have placed there such as attempting to secure gainful and respectable employment and how it is a good feature in a person’s character to be sober at all times.

But, as is the way with thoughts, this wife-related one keeps climbing over all the other clutter in my head and fighting its way to the front of my mind where there is practically no room for thoughts of any shape or form as I have by now drunk more than somewhat. To be exact, three more than somewhat.

As this vision of my wife is forming I note with alarm that it is speaking, although it is only fair to state that speaking or even shouting almost always accompany her presence. What is she saying? Well, I’ll tell you, dear friend. She is advising me that I must change the company I keep. Wholesale. I must, in fact, carry out a total recruitment drive and replace them man-for-man. This is, she says, because they are a no-account group of shiftless bums who are irresponsible, badly-dressed and drunk to boot. She repeats the drunk bit four times so that I am in no doubt that this is a major feature of her message.

I am affronted by this slur on the good names of this fine body of men. Whilst it is true that several of them have unconventional lifestyles and in one or two cases do not even have what would qualify as lifestyles there is no finer bunch of raconteurs and commentators on the modern malaise. I would go so far as to say that if these men ran the country then it would be a veritable utopia but of course no one would ever vote for them as they are unsightly and often have strange gaits.
As I am exhausting myself with all this thinking, “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie comes on the jukebox and One-Legged-Ben declares to all who care to listen, “When this song comes out I am driving on Highway 61 and thinking that my life is quite some set-up” and by way of a response to this, Very-Large-Pete states “When this comes out I am in Full Sutton doing seven for stabbing Greasy-Titch.”
So I gets to thinking that there is maybe some wisdom in my beloved’s words and resolve to henceforth only associate with doctors, lawyers and teachers and perhaps some other pillars of society such as people on television.
But you know how resolutions are.