Norton of Morton: November 2014

From time to time, usually between the hours of 9 o’clock in the morning until 10 o’clock in the evening, my mind harks back to a bygone age where a night at the local drinking tavern would result in a jolly good sing-song around the piano with a large group of chums.

During these wistful moments, I usually picture myself sat at said piano, leading the fleshy morass of sartorially savvy revellers into a rendition of The Sex Pistols’ Anarchy in the UK. On second thoughts, that may be the wrong song choice for this particular setting.

In any case, I’m unable to play the piano (unless a painstaking but thought-provoking version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star counts).

Moving on from my musical failings, there just so happens to be an ivory tickling chap in existence. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the delightfully dapper Mr. Tom Carradine.