Shameful bastards.

Personally, I would never stoop so low as to be so absolute in my condemnation of anyone, Katlaughing. As I pointed out in a PM to The Pontiff yesterday (e)ven when WAV & I meet face to face (as we do from time to time) we do so with big smiles, firm handshakes... and an (unspoken) appreciation that Mudcat is a place where things do, from time to time, get out of hand. Look at all the good things written here (taking the thread as a whole) - they far outweigh the bad and yet you don't say anything about them, do you? That's the problem with the self-righteous - always looking for the bad in the world which, in proportion, isn't that much really; and compared to the really bad stuff this doesn't even register. Apologise? Not on your pompous nelly. Otherwise, I refer you to Mr Kipling above in the spirit of our sweet & common Godless humanity and wish you well.

I was born on 12 May 1932

What? And you dare call me a boring old fart! Hell, you could give me 29 years there, MtheMG. I never knew my father though, and to this day I harbour a fantasy that my mother might have slept with Chico Marx during his visit to the Sunderland Empire, but, alas it doesn't add up. Still, a man can dream, eh? Even at a Mudcat/folkie-youthful 48 I feel pretty old right now, and certainly boring as I begin my fifth week of a particularly persistently nasty cold in spite of all the rose hip tea, fresh spinach, bracing sea-side walks, lemons, etc. etc. mutter, mutter. We'll take the flatulence as given.

Meanwhile... Here, the barometer's falling & the winds blow high and cold; I batten down the hatches for another day huddled in a blanket by the fire with my mother's extensive & shamefully sensational memoirs looking for clues as to who my father might have been...

Joy to the world!

S O'P