Though I may have laughed aloud,
a mite irreverently, about the mob
whom Eric Jolliffe enshrined, I’m
not about to now; it was he who
had Australian icons elevate their
rustic heads and live a life surreal.
Okay, cartoons for sure although
I view the case and see lampoons
we tacitly agreed as fair – but if a
vintage of his comedy acclaimed
all Ettamogah Pubs irrespectively
inclined to wear those dreams I’d
gladly be obliged to stay away.
Well, I lunched there yesterday –
had a beer or two, & used the loo,
liked its decor and an understated
parody of what the past had been,
and that was what I’d come to see.
It was the crowd who came to eat
a sumptuous lunch, have a beer or
three, take time to revel languidly
in atmosphere as real as way back
when – and tiny kids agreed to play
at roles as old as comic repertoires
which claimed this was as real as
Eric ever deigned that it could be
© 20 January 2012, I. D. Carswell
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