Dearly Departed

Monday, 23rd December 1996

"Dis place (aah-aaaah) is 'comin' like a ghost town...."

On a quick visit downstairs at Pharma House I was disturbed to hear a lonely breeze carrying the sound of distant churchbells. No movement, save for the intermittent tumbleweed rolling alone to who-knows-where. I found Old Man Hudson sitting in his rocker, in his battered straw hat and faded yankee uniform chewing on cheap baccy, swearing and spitting at his dusty monitor.

"All the young folk's've up'n'gone," he rasped through his bathtub whiskey. "Just ain't thuh same 'round these parts."

He offered me his bottle; I politely declined, saying I'd just been.

-

HOW'S the new offices, oh brave adventurers?
Are all the tales that we heard about true?
Do they have swivel chairs, desks for the asking?
Plenty of coffee, no need for a queue?
Tell of facilities; bright, new and sparkling,
Cubicles smelling of fresh alpine air.
Water dispensers that bubble divinely,
And sandwiches, sandwiches, never a care.
Tell of computers that work ever faultlessly,
Crashless, and seamless, and faster than sound.
Our blond IS chaps, and that young Robin Dawson,
All blue-arsed fly-like in their rushing around.
Do you miss us, oh our fearless departadours,
Busy as anything, this must be true.
Think of us back here in old Pharma House, fellows;
Sat on our arses with shag all to do.