My forthcoming marriage necessitates some ritual which I understand is known as a stag night. I'm not sure about this. Only yesterday we learnt in the news that being a stag is not at all what it's cracked up to be. I have no idea of what is actually going to happen. Perhaps it is better like this.
But lo, this morning, in the post comes a letter from my father who has found in the family archives the text of some ancient drinking song which is - and I quote - 'for your batchelor night [...] Or perhaps you would like to sing it to [your fiancée].'
I fear my fiancée's taste in music might preclude the latter possibility. But reading through the text for the first time after many years, I am sure that it might find a place at the two - yes, two, count 'em, two - stag gatherings prior to my nuptials.
I have no control incidentally over these two gatherings which are being organised in the greatest secrecy, so for those of you who will not be attending, I offer you the song now on this blog. The words should be sung to the tune of Men of Harlech.
The public vocation of this blog induces me to remind readers of the damage heavy drinking can to to their physical health and the even greater damage total abstinence can do to their moral health. That said, no scientist ever yet proved that singing about drinking is bad for you!
The Drinking Song
What's the use of drink tea,
Indulging in sobriety,
Or tea-total perversity,
It's healthier to booze.
What's the use of milk and water,
These are things that never oughta,
Be allowed in any quarter,
Come on, lose your blues!
Mix yourself a shandy,
Drown yourself in brandy,
Sherry sweet or whisky neat,
Or any other liquor that is handy!
There's no blinkin' use in drinkin',
Anything that doesn't leave you stinkin'!
There's no happiness like sinkin',
Blotto to the floor.
Ceilings that are hyperbolic,
These are for the alcoholic,
Lying on the floor.
Vodka for the arty,
Gin to make you hearty,
Lemonade was only made,
For drinking when your mother's at the party!
Steer well clear of homemade beer,
And anything which isn't labled clear,
There is nothing else to fear,
It's bottoms up, me boys!