A friend once described yours truly as
A cornish pasty, a seamless unity of
All that the world, or at least Cornwall,
Has to offer.
There's a name for these sorts of people:
"Quiz-show fodder".
'cos fellas, let's face the facts,
When I'm older and wiser and poorer to boot
Finding a job just ain't gonna be that easy
Unless the entry requirements at Smith's just happen to be
"Friendly and committed with an intimate knowledge of European capitals."
Not fucking likely.
