beefy22
22-01-2008, 18:32
WHAT IS A FUSILIER
Between the security of childhood and the insecurity of second childhood we find a fascinating group of Welsh humanity called Fusiliers. They come in assorted shapes and sizes, in trucks, in dirty denims, in love, in police vans, in public and always in debt. Girls love them, the towns tolerate them and government supports them.
A Fusilier is laziness with a pack of cards, bravery with a tattered Hank Hansen and the protector of the earth on a dozen pints. He has the energy of a tortoise, the slyness of a fox, the brain of an idiot, the stories of a sea captain, the sincerity of a born liar and the inspiration of a Casanova. Some of his interests are girls, females, women; she’s dames, birds and finally the opposite sex. He dislikes are answering letters, wearing uniform, braso; muster parades, drawers – pyjama type, guards, reveille and provost sergeants.
No one else could cram into one pocket a dirty handkerchief, a packet of crushed cigarettes, two used matches, a picture of his girl, a comb, a bottle opener, a piece of 4x2, an empty case, .22 case, an old pass, a thing, and what’s left of last weeks pay. He likes spending his money on beer, cards, beer, char and wads, beer and what’s left-foolishly.
His worldly achievements have been-fought the Black Jocks to a standstill in Minden, found a woman in the middle of the Lybian desert, sold Imber Village to a visiting American general, pawned the goat, made Evans 80 cry, Tom Owen swear and brought chastity belts into style in Honiton.
A Fusilier is magical creature you can lock him out of your home but not your heart, you can scratch his name off the nominal roll but not off your mind, he is your one and only, bleary eyed, foul mouthed, good for nothing friend.
Between the security of childhood and the insecurity of second childhood we find a fascinating group of Welsh humanity called Fusiliers. They come in assorted shapes and sizes, in trucks, in dirty denims, in love, in police vans, in public and always in debt. Girls love them, the towns tolerate them and government supports them.
A Fusilier is laziness with a pack of cards, bravery with a tattered Hank Hansen and the protector of the earth on a dozen pints. He has the energy of a tortoise, the slyness of a fox, the brain of an idiot, the stories of a sea captain, the sincerity of a born liar and the inspiration of a Casanova. Some of his interests are girls, females, women; she’s dames, birds and finally the opposite sex. He dislikes are answering letters, wearing uniform, braso; muster parades, drawers – pyjama type, guards, reveille and provost sergeants.
No one else could cram into one pocket a dirty handkerchief, a packet of crushed cigarettes, two used matches, a picture of his girl, a comb, a bottle opener, a piece of 4x2, an empty case, .22 case, an old pass, a thing, and what’s left of last weeks pay. He likes spending his money on beer, cards, beer, char and wads, beer and what’s left-foolishly.
His worldly achievements have been-fought the Black Jocks to a standstill in Minden, found a woman in the middle of the Lybian desert, sold Imber Village to a visiting American general, pawned the goat, made Evans 80 cry, Tom Owen swear and brought chastity belts into style in Honiton.
A Fusilier is magical creature you can lock him out of your home but not your heart, you can scratch his name off the nominal roll but not off your mind, he is your one and only, bleary eyed, foul mouthed, good for nothing friend.