Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma my cirrhosis

Oh Erk! it took all of my self control not to spew my Pan fried salmon, spinach, asparagus, baked potato and salza at the sight of Jamie Packers sloppy kiss (ear suck I think) on Alan Jones. Yes there on page three of Fairfax's grandstand weekend SMH and without a hint of sarcasm, irony, mockery or any other sauce to make it more palatable. A litany of arsewipe society pimps, Brownose politicians, and crusading captains of industry, 1100 in all gathered to kowtow to the rodent in celebration of his twenty fifth year on radio. King rat would suit if that title had not already been taken by James Clavell for a similar character in his first novel.

Sometimes when I witness self interest elevated to such great heights of aspiration it's difficult not to pine for an age gone bye when churches, not bankers, provided our philosophical and spiritual guidance. I read recently of a Englishman who whilst comatose on drugs in a church yard had his face torn off by foxes. I can imagine no better fate for a rat like Jones the natural prey of foxes. It's lucky, no canny, of him to have seduced his natural predator who might have put a gun to his head and have as enemies only peaceable thoughtful folk like me. Oops I just bumped my halo against the screen and it now has a nasty crack.

That Hugh is a dark horse, coming on with his "my cirrhosis" as casually as The Knack with "My Shirona". What's he mean by my cirrhosis, is it his alone? I hope so. What are the symptoms? Shouldn't he have discussed it with me, second or somewhere in line to the throne, before going public? It's bad enough with daughters and sisters best friends worrying me about arthritis medication without any of this sort of left field stuff. I tried the Ten a day fish oil remedy, I'm still trying in pain. I doubt there's enough fish in the sea to keep up my supply let alone all my peers. This week I pricked my finger at work and almost bled to death the blood is so thin. Now I go nowhere without pockets filled with tissues and bandages.

Does he (Hugh) mean to say that he's not ever going to drink again? What do you do if you don't drink? Yes I know John has taken this path but he's a priest .Hugh is full blood, he should have told me. What are the symptoms Hugh? Do you notice others bad odours more because I've been noticing that a lot recently? Flaky skin and pimples, especially on the nose? Give me a hint. should I give up chocolate? I love Whittaker's Dark. Bet I have to give it up. Wadd'a they say, "if it tastes good it's bad for ya" or is that just those stupid Irish?

I was discussing it with Paddy Murphy at Bunnings yesterday (yes the village well) I was expressing concern being only three years younger than Hugh. He was expressing even more concern at thirty three years or more dear boy, what can I say. He suggested that we all drank too much and we fell to discussion of earlier generations. I blame the wogs I told him, my parents only had beer and spirits and they couldn't afford spirits. Only an out there alcoholic could be so on beer but then the wogs brought us wine. Sophisticated, seductive but minus the how too formula that was in their breeding. Oh yes we learnt they drank it every day with meals and so did we. What we didn't learn was how to put a cork back in. We thought once opened we had to drink it all or it would go off. Oh yes it went off.

By the way I've discovered a rich new vein of relatives. If only you could bank relatives we'd all be millionaires. I mentioned that I had received birthday greetings mysteriously from Ed Margetts. As it turned out Ed Margetts was only the title on the Email and the greetings were from his wife Pam nee Boland. Her interest in my birthday was provoked by the proximity of her own on the thirty first, the next day. The Margetts name seemed to ring a bell though and as I wished her the best for the thirty first I mentioned this and promised to run it by the family historian. That night John rang me and cleared up this mystery with this remarkable revelation. Emily Boyle my grandmother had a sister named Molly who married a McNamara and lived at "Marlivale" Stephen McNamara's farm in our day. She had four daughters the younger three of whom married three brothers Margetts. Yes just like in those nice Hollywood movies. Ed's mother Grace was thus dads first cousin and Ed is my second cousin. Now along with the exchange of emails I have had with Kay Hanrahan nee Boland since catching up at the reunion has been an exchange of photos. One of these is of four children eating ice blocks; Kalliope and Ezra are spawn of Pam and Ed's daughter Karlee, Finn and Sam are of their so far un-named son. All therefore fall into the generation of Jamison and the children of Alice, Kelly and Gabby on whom we impatiently await.