An Ugly Australian
I sat having a quiet pint yesterday, my mind preoccupied with some very pressing matters. All of a sudden an Australian voice called out to me, "Oi, mate! Smile, why don'tcha? Why so serious?" (All through my life, I have been plagued by this inane question from people for whom quiet reflection is anathema). I looked up to see a skinny, horse-faced young man with bloodshot eyes. A Balinese tattoo was emblazoned on his forearm. He was evidently far gone in drink. We clocked each other as gay straight away, although he was very far from my ideal of that blessed state. "Snap out of it, mate. Cheer up, why don'tcha?" he went on. I groaned inwardly as he gestured me over to his table. Foolishly, and against my better judgement I acceded to his beckoning and went over to sit opposite him. "I'm Carl", he said, holding out a skinny, flaccid hand for me to shake. I told him my name. Believing me t...