Those of you who regularly read my site will be aware that Mr. K and I frequent the Dolphin, an adequate, till lately quiet pub. In recent weeks we have both seen events take a turn for the worse. Namely the wretched racket that now greets our ears on Saturday evenings. The first instance of this audio-mugging was the onset of live music. Truth be told the quality is inconsistent. There has been one occasion when the musicians were not a nuisance. Regrettably this is the exception, not the rule.
As well as the hideous screeching that comes out of the pumped up speakers, last week there was a new evil at our dear local. What? you may ask. What wizardry caused us such indignation? Australia Day. Yes. Though no Paul Hogan from 'Crocodile Dundee'. No memorial to Steve Irwin. Just a lot of stupid 15-year olds drinking Fosters. Well what's wrong with that you old man? You might be thinking. My answer? The gibberish that accompanied their tomfoolery blaring out over the sound system. No didgery doo, no Aboriginal choral effort, no nothing remotely Australian. Just some tuneless beats. In my day...
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