Jolliffe Tales

While I may have hooted loud a
mite irreverently about the mob
whom Eric Jolliffe enshrined I’m
not about to now; his rustic icons
bob their scruffy brows to cite a
country life they made surreal.

Okay, cartoons for real, although
I view the case and see lampoons
we tacitly agreed as fair – but if a
vintage of his comedy acclaimed
all Ettamogah Pubs were deigned
to own those scenes exclusively

I’d too gladly stay away. Alright, I
lunched there yesterday – had a
beer or two, saw no cockatoos in
boots, used the loo and liked the
muted decor’s parody of what the
past just might have been – that’s 

what I went to see. Now people 
lunch most sumptuously, sip a
beer or three, languidly relax to
atmosphere it seems was real 

as way back when the locals 

came to liven up the shack 

And kids agree with boundless 

energy and great delight to roles
of yesterday, playing characters
in boldly comic claims of old as
real as Eric’s repertoires had ever
deigned that it should be
© 20 January 2012, I. D. Carswell