The Ham Ho's will be convening later. The five ho's round mine for seven. There'll be wine. We go way back, to a time when a carry-out and a bop at the Crescent still seemed like a Good Idea. It's more G&T's than Getting On Down now, but the craics ever mighty. Moniker earned after a previous AGM. Cock-a-tails in the Merchant then adjourned to the Cloth Ear for a half-time soak-up. The Bird ordered Boiled Ham Hock, an unfortunate lapse in judgement attributable to a Long-Island-Iced-Tea-Too-Far. It arrived looking like a skinned cat that had been warmed next to a radiator. Ham Ho'. Rare. Ruurrr in norniron vernacular.
This Joy Luck Club are gassing away in Borneo. Some men in an alarming boat took us out to a water village on stilts. The Boy wasn't keen to be fair.
There was an irascible history teacher Mr Bennett Up At The Convent. He was fond of accusing a particularly unkempt or unruly girl of resembling the Wild Man Of Borneo. This wild man sounded perfectly exotic from the vantage point of our privileged hill in Ballynahinch. And then one day I found myself in Mr Bennetts Borneo. I didn't spot any wild men. Just some lovely ladies having a jaw.