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The Stones |April 26th | 2006
...............Have
you tried it with a carrot?....... .. I have some other Rolling Stones related stories though that are more fun. One about my own pants filling, non-encounter with them and the other about a journey a friend of mine took this last Rolling Stones weekend from relative social anonymity to the royal court of their Satanic Majesties. The Ten Days that Shook My World Last
time the Stones came was about ten years ago, as they did this time, they
were to play at Western Springs and they required (excuse me if my memory
is faulty) that EVERYONE was seated. Anyway
at this point in time we were doing quite well, great reviews for the
album, signed to a major label etc … Our
singer had just left the band so I was kind of the main guy. What made
matters worse was that we were inveterate shoe gazers. His
journey starts on Thursday night at the Crow Bar. The unusual typical
mix of people are there; the winsome blonde, who wonders whether the guy
she fancies at the end of the bar is metrosexual or just gay. The westies
who are way out of their depth. The inevitable person from Shortland Street.
The annoying barman who talks in an English accent and won’t pour
you a f*cking drink without first performing acrobatics with the bloody
spirits bottle. Matt
meets a guy called Alan. 4pm
on Stones day, Matt is at the gate feeling like a chump. A
while later his cellphone rings.. It is Alan.. |
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| The
Song |April 14th | 2006 ...................................POP ART ........ .. .....................  ......l.................The Greatest Pop Single Ever How does one write a great pop song? Or because many of the legendary songsmiths come in pairs- How do two? It is an important and intriguing question, that demands a thoughtful examination from a great intellect, but because we don’t have anyone like that – I’ll do it instead. Basically - we need a tune and some lyrics. Lyrics can be important; they can address huge world problems or be about the most personal and intimate issues we face. Sometimes lyrics can remain dormant until we require them. Like when someone dies or when you suffer a breakup with a great love. Then they pop out of a song and assume meaning. But excellent words in a pop song are not universal. Many just consist of babbling gibberish. Either that or bubbling gibberish I can never tell. (Note: Alfred lord Tennyson Did you go down to the babbling brook or the bubbling one?) Crap Lyrics - exhibit A: ’I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates you’ve got a brand new key’ In fact someone like the late, great Roger Miller made half of his career out of babbling gibberish; ’My uncle used to love me but she died’ OR ‘You can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd’ Mind you, some very credible songs have sh*t lyrics too... ’Mc Arthur’s Park’ is a song that is regarded by a good many people (who should know better) as the greatest ever written – But it contains the line; ‘someone left the cake out in the rain’ What the hell does that mean? What sort of cake was it? Who left it there? Even though it’s probably ruined, if we get some custard, can we still use it for a pudding? Certain lyrics can make you think: a lyric like ‘if you think I’m sexy…”by Rod Stewart - makes me think (in a cockney accent) ‘ My god. That midget has shagged some top birds hasn’t he…” If you want, you can use irony in lyrics and have a bit of fun – like Morrisey did in the Smiths ; “I broke into the palace… with sponge and rusty spanner…. .. I like you but you cannot sing, you should hear me play piano” Eminem took it step further and assumed a character in his songs - “Slim Shady”. This confused the hell out of middle America who prefer and understand things only in black and white. So, they sent it rocketing up the charts, first with that stupid old conservative standby ‘getting it banned’ and then they organised to have his CD branded with a “Parental Guidance Recommended” sticker - so that every teenager in America wanted a copy. OK. To recap- To create a good pop song, while you can employ rhyming couplets, you don’t have to be Shakespeare, or even Shakespeare’s sister. Then there’s the tricky art of finding the melody. Where the hell is it? I know I left it in here somewhere. Did I lose it with my keys? Again, let’s get back to basics. Simply put, you need some chords and a tune. And there seems to be endless variation on those few notes and selection of chords. Not every combination works however. . . . . .. .look at the music of Simply Red. But persist, because when you achieve the right chord change and the perfect selection of notes you have struck gold, you have found “The Hook”. That’s the thing that makes you want to come back for more, that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up (Hair elsewhere can perform tricks also). Often you can do this be employing the cunning minor chord. An example of this can be found during “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” by The Beatles (Georgie!). At the point when the lyric says ‘I don’t know why – I , I ‘ The cunning minor is inserted with great success. “Puppy Love” by Donny Osmond also uses this trick, with frightening, pinpoint saccharine accuracy. The reason I am talking about songwriting is that recently, I accidentally wrote a Pop Song myself. Pop is the perfect description of it, both stylistically and because it just popped out of nowhere. Yes… just when I think I am past it, twilight, sun is setting, hanging up plectrum for good and so on… I go and squeeze one out, and, it’s actually quite good, plus annoyingly catchy. How did this one happen?? The chords are a complete mystery. I can’t even remember recording them. I was just unexpectedly hungover a recent Saturday morning and found a sound file labeled, enigmatically - “untitled3” I open it up. It’s me banging some chords out on the acoustic and it’s quite good. Although the chords are mostly clichéd - good old “A” and it’s best mate old “E”, it does have the cunning minor, introduced slyly before a chorus. So I make up some singing. 2o minutes later it’s a kinda decent pop song. But good songs are like that though. They sort of drop out of nowhere. ’we channel them’ said that guy John Lennon… …and he should know. It’s almost like they were already there and you just discover them or release them just like Michelangelo’s said about his sculptures.  "Please Release me let me go.." sang the statue.. (Is this evidence that Michelangelo was gay or what?? Because the sculpture sure is..) ‘The Enigma of Pop Art’ said someone in the 60’s on an entirely unrelated topic Anyway, it is said that ‘necessity is the mother of invention’ well I think laziness is. So when I decided to put a slightly more complete version of the song down on my computer, rather than use a drum machine or, heaven forbid, an actual drummer, I resolve to steal a beat off a song. As I said ‘I’m a lazy bastard’ so I steal off the most obvious source EVER. One of the most sampled songs of all time, in hip hop music at least, Led Zepellin’s “When the Levee Breaks”. I just take a kick drum beat out speed it up loop it and Wella! ‘A backbeat you can use it..’. The cool thing about using this, is that you now have one of the greatest drummers of all time as your rhythm section, So it’s me and John Bonham and work. Well recorded too. The song’s about a walk I once took on holiday in Malaysia a long time ago.. We had come to this island “Langkawi” because a guy had told us it was cool and - duty free. We arrived by ferry in the main town on the island. Beer was only 40c. French wine was relatively cheap too. Glorious food was next to nothing as well. Cool. The day after arriving, we travelled to a small place, with accommodation by a beach, at the far end of the island. But because the area was muslim, they sold no alcohol. Great. SO we go to a place with almost free beer, and then go to the only place there, that doesn’t sell it. Anyway, we said; ”who cares? Who needs beer anyway!!?” Well, after about three days in the incessantly tropical sun, the answer was a resounding; “WE DO” I said “I need a cleansing ale. Now.” Julian and I called a cab from the other side of the island and drove 40k’s to the next village to buy some quenching supplies. The next day we went for a walk to some famous Waterfalls, cascades, water slides in the hills, set in the steamy tropical forest. Sure, it was a beautiful day, but something intangible occurred, something that I still can’t explain. The circumstances conspired to put me in a glorious mood, one that was almost transcendent... I remember a moment where I was walking ahead of the group. The Smith’s song with the possibly or impossibly ironic lyric “Mother I can feel the soil falling over my head.” was on my walkman. It was a moment where I felt happy to be alive, a moment where I could say “I had an epiphany” except that, I had no thought in my head at all. It was all about the moment. We saw lizards running across the path. We swam. We laughed. And I thought to myself “What a wonderful world..” Anyway here’s the song.. download / listen here Not wanting to alter my initial stream of unconciousness - It’s called “untitled3” |
| The
movies|April 8th | 2006 (Please excuse blogging delays. Busy etc..plus am moving blog from next week.,,) ........................Stories from Grey Lynn............ .. ..................  Last weekend we went to the movies without the boy. It was weird for me and must have been like taking a limb off for Mrs K. But were not gonna go rushing home at halftime 'cos we miss him too much. Time on our own is too precious for that. And we will see enough of that bloody kid in our lifetime. We arrived in time for the previews. One of them was for “Scary Movie 4” which I laughed all the way through. The other was for “Kinky Boots” which everyone else laughed at. Why do the English like these twee ideas? Something about a transgender black guy with a deep voice saving a shoe factory. If I said I had THAT idea for a movie people would lock me up, not give me money to make it. Are their brains softened by pantomime? The alarm bells sounded from the first words of the voice in the trailer; “……from the people who brought you ‘Calender Girls.” arghhhhh!! The main feature was “Sione’s Wedding.” It was about drunken islanders. It is a sign of the maturity of our society that we can now make a movie about drunken islanders without a hint of cultural cringe. And kiwi movies are now constructed well enough that we can appraise them along side anything in the world without having to give it any special consideration ‘because it’s a kiwi movie’. It hasn't always been like that. It was my considerable misfortune to go to be invited to the advance screening of a very independent New Zealand made and Auckland based movie back in the 90’s when I was at university. The withering effect of time on my memory has meant that I have erased all trace of the name from my mind, but perhaps it’s a survival thing. Perhaps it’s just as well. Before it started the producer stood up and basically apologised in advance for the movie and then said “it's not perfect but just remember that the director mortgaged her house to make this happen. Now enjoy!” How could we assess it fairly after a speech like that? It was embarrassingly bad and when it finished the lights came on, the director stood up and ... no one applauded. I felt sick. It was awful. Then someone handed me a small piece of paper and said: ”fill in what you thought of the movie" I just left, because there really wasn’t enough ink in the universe to cover the considerable issues the movie had. But we've come a long way since then. “Sione’s Wedding” was a good time, but it was not a great film and I was slightly disappointed because I came to it expecting more than it offered... Nevertheless it was brilliant to see Samoan Grey Lynn up there, live, on the big screen. But, there’s another Grey Lynn whose story needs to be told too. The Grey Lynn I am familiar with. The Grey Lynn of tired old musicians, of the jaded leftie, of the guarded cynic. I have conceived such a movie. The story of a man so mired in cynicism he is an emotionally retarded wreck. Trapped in his room, trapped in his personality, filled with self loathing. I know what you're thinking: ‘that doesn’t sound like a fun way to sit in the dark and eat ice cream’ but he will evolve. There will be a journey, emotional and otherwise, from a sh*t hole in Grey Lynn, to other sh*t holes, in other parts of the world. Then, eventually he will return to his roots. TAGLINE: Martin Phillips meets Forrest Gump. … and Gump declares "lifes no box of chocolates after all" No. Just kidding. The movie will begin as follows: Establishing shot - interior house - Grey Lynn. The camera Pans around Darkened Room. A dishevelled Scene. Clothes piled on the floor, interspersed with mouldy coffee cups, The floor around the bed is strewn with record albums (Televisions “Marquee Moon” overlaps “The Banana Album” by Velvet Underground, which mounts Miles Davis “Kind of Blue” ). There are books piled by the bed (“One Hundred Years of Solitude”, A book of poetry By Hone Tuwhare and a copy of “The Bone People” with a bookmark in it, trapped forever in the third chapter). Eventually the camera stops at the figure on the bed. His eyes are closed but he has a cigarette in his mouth. From the other room a voice says. ”Andrew! Do you want a coffee.” XCU face “F**k” He says. His eyes sliding open. “I’m bored already….” He will be on the dole but will be in a band which he will consider ‘work’. The Band are called “The Mind Boggles”. The band argue so much about what they should do and how they should do it that they actually do nothing. Although, when they started they had a song go to number 7 on the Radio B Top Ten called “Bullshit” Life is bullshit for Andrew too and it’s traveling downhill. His car is repossessed. The fines on his library card are so large he is caught trying to steal books from the library. His conversations are marked by his bludgeoning irony and black observations. INTERIOR FLAT. The group are sitting around the lounge drinking wine. Mary “Oh no! someone's committed suicide just down the road, next to Harvest Wholefoods.” Andrew. “A vegetarian I expect. Suffering from meat deprivation. That, or they will have been reading a John Pilger book.” Mary “Why do you say that?” Andrew “Have you read any of his books?” …I would want to give it all away too” Mary “Give what all away?” Andrew “Living” Sam “What do you actually LIKE mate?” Andrew “ Cigarettes, football and ... Holds up his glass of wine. Andrew “The unquestioning comfort you can expect from a glass of crappy wine..” Mary “Women?” Andrew “yes, The unquestioning comfort of a crappy woman would be appealing too.” Then one night at the pub quiz he meets Lucy. They argue about the answers to questions incessantly. Then there is a question about “Catcher in the Rye.” Andrew declares; ”My question thank you. One of my favourites… ‘the handbook for the disaffected assassin!” Lucy says; ”Aren’t all assassins disaffected? By nature? You know, you don’t hear of many happy ones do you? The contented assassin etc..” Afterwards - she gets the question right. Then and there, Andrew falls in love. It is not just ordinary love, it is the redemptive love of a good woman. He is lifted from the mire. He begins to experience emotions apart from loathing and hatred. During a plane journey to play in Dunedin he is seated by the head of an ad agency. Andrew tells him that “It’s all bullshit !” The agency man likes it. ”That’s what advertising is, my friend - bullshit. But at least we are honest about it. Do you want a job?” Andrew takes it. His eternal irony holds him in good steed at the ad agency. He is promoted. His journey begins.. The film has a catchy title. It will be called; ................................  It’s such a great title Harvey Weinstein wants to produce the movie. Late one night him and his cigar phone up. The cigar speaks first. ”I think I speak for all of us when I say this will be a special project but I wonder . . will there be a part for some tobacco?” ”yes of course. He smokes rollies.. and later he can smoke tailor mades and then cigars, mirroring his upward climb.” ”I like it!” Says Harvey hanging up the phone. The debate over casting the lead is troublesome. Weinstein wants John Cusack, but we put him off saying he’s over exposed in such a role. ”It’s too similar to “High Fidelity” Harvey we say” Then Weinstein hears the phrase all producers dread; “Why don’t we cast a kiwi lead?” But inspite of Joel Tobeck no one can be found.  Eventually we settle on Paul Bettany from “Master and Commander”. Bettany is English which is perfect for all the whinging he has to do. If French is the language of love then English is the accent for moaning and whining. Rene Zellweger plays Lucy. A method actor, she studies the cab drivers accent on the way in from the airport. By the time she gets to Royal Oak she is able to do the voice of an Indian who used to be a nuclear physicist perfectly. Informed she has the wrong accent she works at Occam for a week to study the mannerisms of the correct Grey Lynn girl. When the week is up she can ignore patrons while texting with the best of ‘em.  Playing the real sex card The role of the manipulative boss’s daughter who steals Andrew away from Lucy can be filled by Paul Bettany’s real wife Jennifer Connelly. This can lead to rumours that the sex scenes are real (which we put out) that will do wonders for the movie at the box office. What a film it will be and who doesn’t identify with the story of a poor miserable w*nker who becomes a rich miserable one. It will be a blockbuster. Footnote: Legend Ken Stewart got married last weekend. I have known him for years and, gather more than two of Ken's friends together and the stories will flow. For instance you will have heard the phrase "beached" which is in common usage to describe a large leather swathed person who has passed out at the door of a pub. That has it's deriviation from Ken. Unfortunately, in spite of Ken's desparate pleading I was unable to attend, but the Jimi Page sent it's best man instead- fine song writer, bon vivant, racconteur, and wine snob- Little Ross Hollands. I am expecting a match report presently. I wish Ken and his bride well. To her I say: The road may be long and there will be probably be obstacles on the way BUT .... it will never be boring. and to KEN; "E whenua pirangi o whangai parahiki tiki utu e toku merena koha!" click for translation |
| The
Creek | March 4th | 2006 .................... ..........GIMME DANGER....... .................... ..  ....................... A rare scene. People having fun. Last weeks South Park ‘Bloody Mary’ episode was in some way a moralistic tale about self determination in the modern world. It is a tale with a lesson the Waitakere Council would seem to require as they seek to fill in a swimming hole because of a number of drownings. It is symptomatic of the psyche of the establishment that they can even contemplate such a heavy handed move. Why is it the f**king swimming holes fault? It seems that in our society we believe that rules and regulation will solve any problem. But doesn’t that kind of circumvent any personal responsibility? If a four year old kid drowns in a swimming hole isn’t it probably the parents fault? Clearly something’s gone mad, but is it political correctness? Or is it the contemporary need for everything surrounding children to be safe, sanitised and padded to a maddening degree. Political Correctness hasn’t gone mad – bureaucracy and parenting has. When I think back on my childhood growing up in West Auckland I cant help but feel that they would want to concrete the whole of that in too, or have it shut down by OSH. We were in almost constant peril. We made flying foxes, rope swings, dodgy tree huts, and rafts, without a man in a white coat in sight. We had a trolley race where one part of the course went across the road. A kid would stand on the road to say if a car coming. But even if a car came, in the white hot competition of 11 year olds trolley derby, we probably wouldn’t want to stop. We would lose valuable points. Even if we did want to stop the brake was a pathetic stick that dragged against the wheel. It would either (a) not work or (b) snap off, if applied. We also played numerous games on houses that were being built. They had scaffolding on them and were fantastic play grounds when you were growing up. But because we did that stuff we learned a lot of lessons. We learned all about consequences. We explored boundaries. We became self-reliant. Mostly we learnt where bravery ends and stupidity begins. Oh.. and also we got hurt – a lot. I smashed out my front teeth and because of a misadventure on my bike – broke my arm. Scrapped knees and various wounds and bruises were de rigueur. If my son Harry doesn’t come home with similar when he grows up I will wont to know why. “Go outside and hurt yourself you bloody sook.” I will say.  Scene of the crime - The Whau Creek/ River The Great Purple Speed Boat Story - (A Huckleberry Finish) When I was about 12 we were obsessed with building rafts. We would steal any 44 gallon drum that wasn’t nailed down. Eventually we built our dream vessel. It was an wallowing, idiotic, meandering shipping hazard, and because it had no rudder, it was almost completely directionless. Once we had launched it we realized we had nowhere to go in it. So we decided to build a tree hut on the opposite side of the creek, The Whau Creek. One day we piled our dinghy up with wood and set off across the water to build the tree hut. “It’s like your Huckleberry Finn.” I would say to my mate. “and your Tom Sawyer.” “Whose Tom Sawyer?” He said rowing his way deftly through the mangroves. Halfway across a piece of 'four by two' fell off the back of the boat. “We’ll get it later” we said and carried on. Landing on the distant shore we set about building our tree hut / platform on a tree overlooking the water. After a while, a purple speedboat sped past us on the water. “Wow! What a cool boat!” In those days the only colour to threaten Purple in the coolness stakes was Orange. To an adolescent boy a purple speedboat was the River King. We watched it in awe as it disappeared around the corner. When it came back around it was going even faster, but it was heading towards our bit of wood. “Sh*t it’s gonna hit our plank” I said. With great authority my mate said; “It will jump over it. Don’t worry. A boat like that won’t be troubled by a bit of old wood.” Wrong. The boat hit the wood and somehow it launched the glorious purple speedboat into the air. It was one of those moments where time seems to stand still and life is performed in slow motion, so that it will imprint on your consciousness more emphatically. The purple speedboat became airborne and at the same time turned slowly over in mid air. It was a scene that was almost beautiful or poetic. Except, I guess for the owner of the speed boat. When it hit the water again it flipped immediately, until it was upside down. Then it started sinking. “F**K” Work on the tree hut ceased. We rowed out to the boat as quickly as we could. Luckily the two guys in the boat were thrown out in the crash. When we arrived one guy was clutching a line going to the boat as it slid underwater. The glorious purple speedboat was sinking fast, the fashionable colour purple fading into the murky water. We were terrified they would want to kill us, but of course they didn’t know it was our bit of wood. “Thank god you guys were here!” They said. We stayed with them until another boat arrived and they even tried to give us some money. Unfortunately, the sense of adventure was so keenly felt my moronic mate told his dad what happened. He gave us a bit of a telling off but you could tell he thought it was pretty funny. Had the above happened in 2006 what would have happened? The parents would have had a conference. “This is an outrage.” they would say. "You boys could have been hurt!" "How could it happen?" The place where we launched our boat would be fenced off. The tree we built our hut in would be chopped down. Finally they would have to concrete the creek in. “One day possibly someone may get hurt.” Said the councilor. “That cannot happen.”  Piha. In need of a concrete solution. Where will it all end? Piha is a much bigger danger than the swimming hole but luckily we have the solution. This is the way of the future. No danger - ever. No personal choices, just concrete. I’m going to buy my shares in a concrete company today. One day I'll be a rich man. |
| TV
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February 16th 2006 ............... ..KUMARA NEWS.................... ........................... .. ..............FOSSILS FUEL CALLS FOR ..,,,,,...,,,,,,..,,,,...CHANGE TO TV........... ...........................  ......................."ere. Where's that bleedin' remote?" Yesterdays announcement calling for a shake up of Television has been followed up by a press conference at the the Ponsonby Bowling club. The venue was chosen because it's facilities are better suited to the elderly. It was a chance for the infirm and uninformed to bang their hands on the podium of New Zealand public life in frustration. "Weve had enough" said the octagarian. "I thought we didn't have enough" said the pensioner. "When does the bar open?" said former Governor General Cath Tizard. And so began the most long winded and also short winded debate ever, on the state of our TV programmes. "There's nothing decent on anymore. Everyone is saying so" "Give the people what they want!" Joe Atkinson lecturer on TV studies said. "You mean, give the people what YOU want." At which point an elderly man shouted. "Bastard! I didn't fight in two world wars..." Their was then a minor fracas as the advocates for change vented spleen. Eventually order was restored.. During the outburst it was revealed that Sir Edmund Hillary had conquered everything but his remote, and had never watched a channel other than TV One. When they were quizzed on what they thought they would like to see on our screens there was no consensus, although they all agreed it would be something British and stood for a rousing version of "God Save The Queen". "We want a return to quality TV programmes like "Are You Being Served" said a spokesman. At that point Broadcast Minister Steve Maharey arrived and slid into the room on the slick of his own glib rhetoric. "I've come to give you an offhand commitment to send the ideas and indeed ideals, of this group to a select commitee. In so doing it will enter the labyrinthine corridors of bureaucracy which are kafkaesque both in their pointlessness and complexity.." Confusion and muted clapping. Then Dame Cath said."W**ker!" Maharey continued, condescending to use common english. "What about a geriactric channel?" clapping. "Now your talking.." "It can have a cooking show for kiwis. A simple one. called "The Edmonds Cookbook" . Episode 1 can be "Fun with Scones". The group erupted into cheering.. "and it can have a show fronted by Sir Howard Morrison, which will be light entertainment" "Very light on entertainment indeed" "and he can get young people on and tell them they're fat" The crowd was ecstatic. Dame Malvina Major said. "No one can do that like Sir Howard can. Who else could front such a show?" From the back of the room; the unmistakable sound of feathers being ruffled. Someone was clearing their throat. It was Paul Homes. "I think you, my core demographic, are forgetting about me" He rose from his chair with exaggerated gravitas, but was barely taller than when he was sitting down. Temuera Morrison then said." Bro I heard Sky TV are in negotiations to buy an aircraft hangar to keep your ego in.." laughs. "Cheekie darkie.." "You all know my credentials and here.." Holmes produces a cassette player. "Listen to this. It's me waxing lyrical from my show this morning about the Bali nine" His voice continues on the tape machine.. ." ........ John Howard that brilliant man put it exactly right when he said 'I dont care about the bali nine. I care a bout their Parents'.. yes.. their parents. Imagine it ... and I can because I have stared into the face of despair, into the mascara laden eyes of Rosalee Corby, the Mother of that innocent girl Shapelle. Yes, I have seen the despair there. Imagine it. It would be like.. well, like carrying around a small fridge on your back....."  The fridge. Ideal to keep your despair in. Holmes then clicked the machine off like he had made his point. An aged dignitary stood up and said. "Were getting off track. Damn that midget! We need to give the TV back to the people!" Joe Atkinson spoke again. "Dont the ratings tell you what the people want to see? They want to see "Celebrity Treasure Island". They dont want to see some BBC documentary" "Thats rubbish! I was at my mobility scooter anger management course the other day and the verdict was unanimous. TV has gone downhill. it's on the slippery slope. My god. Adults watching cartoons .. what next.." "here..here.." Steve Maharey mentioned "Bro Town" for the 15th time and then a resoltion was passed to hold a 'bottle drive'and a bring-and-buy for the cause. The group also agreed to meet again in two weeks (Ladies bring a plate). Eventually a representitive of TVNZ arrived and simply plugged in a TV which played some of the shows that had been mooted earlier. As Close to Home and Gallery played the mood in the group changed and when an episode of "Mc Phail and Gadsby" came on things turned nasty. "They'd be buggered without Muldoon!" Soon an ex Prime Minster declared."I prefer South Park to this crap!" "Disband the group! Sherries all round!" And so it was over. |
