Adelaide, who knew all the words to both God Save the Queen and Advance Australia Fair because her mother used to sing them whenever she got drunk, didn’t much care what they sang to the Queen at the Commonwealth Games.
As long as they sang it in tune.
Often matters of such trivial nature overshadow the real reason for an event.
Why do we, as people, feel the need to celebrate such matters? Isn’t it ridiculous enough (on a scale of enough ridiculousness) that the media creates such fanfare?
Picture this:
“Hey, Lenny, the Pope’s visiting next week.”
“Fuck! I’d better get out my good tux: the white one Thanks for the heads-up, Bruce. You, my friend, are a true pal.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll keep you abreast of every important event so that you will be prepared when the big day finally strolls around. By the way, did you know that we’re still unsure who will sing what at the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony?”
It was at that precise moment that Bruce discovered what it felt like to receive the full impact of a javelin through the cerebral cortex.
Motionless, he now resides on a hospital bed; his eyes transfixed on a crack in the ceiling as his glands work overtime to produce enough saliva to give the outward appearance of a hopeless cause in a vegetative state.
Luckily for Bruce, hospital regulations ensure that an earpiece will convey to his brain images and sounds he cannot comprehend as the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony gets underway.
Good luck, Bruce. Australia’s behind you.