My pals are too busy making good music or drinking good beer. The only Flamingo I've ever known was pretty. (Oh, and learned to drink in a pub by that name.)

I think you'll find, my little spunk bubble on the prick of reality, that some of those who thought it fashionable to agree with your gung Ho assessment of tragedy have either gone quiet, started spinning on the spot or wedded to a theory without being able to question it. (A bit like God botherers, if you will.)

Do carry on. People wonder why I occasionally pick up my phone, look at it and start chuckling.