Garth

Last week I gave the address of the Far Queue to an old friend from way back – we haven’t really spoken for nearly 20 years.
This is only relevant because until then nobody I know (besides wife and sons) knows that the Far Queue exists, let alone that it is where I spew out the toxic waste that would otherwise accumulate and manifest itself as Mr Grouchy.

Perhaps because of my fear of authority, or rather what the authorities are capable of, there is a definite paranoia linked to having my name known out there in the ether. Not that I’m advocating violent insurrection here, but you never know when you might attract the attention of some censor. Back in the bad old days in South Africa they used to say you could get arrested for saying the wrong thing about the government; I don’t know if that applied to the man-in-the-street but there certainly were people who were punished for saying the wrong thing too loudly.
But it can hardly be said that The Far Queue poses any danger to those inept motherfuckers who run the world and I very much doubt that the 10 people who read here regularly could be misconstrued as cabal of dangerous anarchists set to overthrow the establishment.
Pity.

So perhaps, in light of (and despite) the above, I should come out from behind Pisces Iscariot (stupid fucking name anyway) and start trading in my own name.

I shall henceforth be known as Garth; it is, after all, my name.

In all othert respects it will be "business as usual" here at the Far Queue.

For the record: that's not really me emerging from the helicopter