Monday, 10 February 2014

Seppuku by Any Other Name.

I was watching a bit of the Winter Olympics while eating dinner tonight (spaghetti Bolognese and a strawberry Cornetto – I know how to live.) I came in at that strange bobbly-snow-and-somersaults event, and was mortified to see the Japanese skier miss his footing and fail to finish the course properly. It struck me that there was a time when his only honourable option would have been the committing of hara-kiri. I do hope they’ve moved on a bit these days.

We’d heard of hara-kiri when I was a kid, you know, only we pronounced it Harry Carry (’Arry Carry, actually.)

‘’Ere, Jeff, who’s ’Arry Carry?’

‘Dunno. Some Japanese bloke, I expect.’

That’s a fair reflection of the state of my roots. It is.

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