01 October 2011

God Speed, Love Rhino!

Mr L. Rhino, Esq. in concert, Oct 2009
And so this weekend (technically Monday, but the actual goodbyes were said yesterday, also technically not part of the weekend. Hmmmn. So basically nothing in that opening statement was true. Interesting) the latest in a long line of economic and/or climate-related emigrations takes place as Ireland looses yet another of her favoured sons to the wilderness that is called "elsewhere".

Last night saw more than a few manly hugs and forced back tears as we said goodbye to our favourite musical odd-toed ungulate d'amour, Mr Love Rhino, departing on the morning tide (again, technically, on Monday. And by plane) with his fair lady-wife for the magical land in which they first met, Mordor, or as the natives call it, New Zealand (although they actually call it Aotearoa, because that is its name. Us ignorant Europeans can call it whatever we like, but we'd be wrong), forever and ever, and ever, and looking out the window at the rain as it slowly washes away the rank detritus donated to our street's semi-permanent collection by the unwashed masses of what passes for humanity on a Friday night, I can't really blame him.

In fact so unwashed are these masses that only the imminent and permanent departure of a good friend to the Western Isles (they are heading via South America, so yes, Aotearoa lies to the West. Check it out on a globe of you don't believe me) could drag me out into the gaping maw of that unholy morass commonly referred to in the popular press as 'Friday Night', now that both alcohol and beating down drunk children and their stupid haircuts with a lead pipe are medically proscribed. To be fair now beating down drunk children has probably always been frowned upon in polite society, and although technically not likely to aggravate my pancreas my surgeon did warn me that the "sorry Garda, but I was just released from hospital and am on a lot of medication" excuse will probably only work two or three times before they start to get suspicious, so best to save it for something really good.

Sobriety does indeed suck the big one, but at least it prevented me from degenerating into the "It's all over, and it's all about to begin" monologue from Philadelphia, Here I Come!, my usual teary farewell to imminent emigrants.

God Speed, Love Rhino. You will be missed.

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