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In his own country, and among his own kin
Curses!
Every six months it’s the same.
I slave away, making myself popular, doing my bit for charity, trying to get myself appointed Lord Lieutenant of the new Welsh county of Llcllwydyllwychh, sucking up to Tony Blair in the sauna, deliberately not kicking the Queen’s hat off on formal occasions – but what happens when the Honours List appears?
Zero. Zilch. Rien. Nary a Lundqvist.
I’m not proud. I’m not asking for the Order of the Garter or the Order of Merit, which might involve having to be polite to Baroness Thatcher. I’d settle for a British Empire Medal (formerly given to samphire-gatherers, goat-gelders, swamp-garglers and the removers of Gary Glitter’s chest hair with tweezers) if they felt like reviving it, just as a one-off.
All I want is a medal, plus a large piece of framed parchment referring to me as ‘our trusty and wellbeloved Toasty’ and a few letters to put after my name on the brass plaque at the front door, which presently reads ‘T. LUNDQVIST, KNIVES BLUNTED’ and seems to lack the vital something.
It’s bound to come right in the New Year Honours though, isn’t it? I mean, this has gone on long enough. It’s getting ridiculous. Roll on December 31st.
Toasty’s Futon is pleased to announce that Merkin, alias ‘The’ Merkin, can, according to an ancient prophecy by Sir Norman Wisdom, look forward to twenty-six years of health and happiness after putting Toasty’s Futon in the ‘My Favourite Blogs’ section of his sidebar at Play Up, Play Up, and Play the Game.
A preliminary inspection suggests Merkin may be our kinda guy.
Don’t forget you too can qualify for the abovementioned twenty-six years of good luck by affixing Toasty’s Futon to your sidebar. It’s easy (for anyone who can make head or tail of that unprepossessing slab of raw HTML we call the Blogger Template) and it’s fun (he lied).
If, alternatively, you consider you have quite enough health and happiness to be going on with already, thank you, I have no more to say, you spoilt little brat, and may you choke on your edible plastic country seat.
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