sweet effay

Many years ago, I used to lounge around the house singing Alex Harvey’s ‘Gamblin’ Bar Room Blues’ at the top of my voice. It’s a poignant little ditty about infidelity, and alcohol fuelled murder with the stirring chorus of

Ho ye, ho ye, you’re just as drunk as me
Ho ye, ho ye, headin’ for the deep blue sea

The point was that it used to drive my father mad. He would make out he didn’t care for as long as possible so as not to encourage me, but eventually he would snap and tell me to stop singing “that revolting song”. I would continue with gusto.

Cut to the present day and life in the Little House: the Little effay lies on the sofa idly toying with a colouring pencil and merrily singing

McDonalds, McDonalds
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut

I try to ignore it, but my stomach gets tighter and tighter until I just have to do something. “Can’t you sing something else?” I ask. She smiles at me, ups the volume, and starts doing the actions.

I can hear the ghost of my old man chuckling over my shoulder.