I-only-like-their-early-stuff-bring-back-the-red-rattler-trains
Hells Bells, Can’t We Just Enjoy The Show of St Albans writes,
Dear Westie, Last night I went to see AC/DC at the MCG along with about a million other Melburnians. And I loved it, even though I was stuck up the back of the Southern Stand. When I got home, my brother burst my bubble saying it wasn’t AC/DC—it was Angus Young with an AC/DC cover band. Way to poop on my parade. Is he a dickhead, or is he right?
Ah gee, HBCWJETSOSA, what a wet blanket you have for a brother. Having said that, technically he’s right; there is only one original member left. But who cares? It’s Angus freaking Young for Bon’s sake.
Your brother is probably one of those people who sees life through a rose-tinted rearview mirror, where everything that once was, was glorious and everything that is now is not. One of those, “I-only-like-their-early-stuff-bring-back-the-red-rattler-trains-and-early-closing-on-a-Tuesday” people. Does he complain about daylight savings fading his carpet? I bet he refuses to go to cafes that serve soy milk, insists on wearing woollen football jumpers, and still calls Southern Cross Station ‘Spencer Street’.
Anyway, even if it was the original lineup—would it have sounded any better? Would it have looked any better? Malcolm Young was a very short man. He was completely dwarfed by his guitar and, with long hair draped across his face, he could have been Cousin It from the Adams Family up there for decades, for all we know.
The point is: you saw Angus Young in his schoolboy shorts doing the duck walk at the MCG. That’s not a cover band—that’s a religious experience. Your brother can keep his vintage grumpiness. You got rock and roll.
From last edition
Last month we tackled the thorny issue of people who bring their dogs to cafes only to let them drool, sometimes literally over other people’s food. Off the Leash of Albion suggested that our reader should bring along a goldfish and, next time they are slobbered over by someone’s dog, drop said fish into the dog owner’s coffee, saying, “She’s just being friendly – she won’t drink much.” Alternatively, It’s a Dog’s life of Sunshine, recommended sitting on the ground next to the dog owners, tongue lolling, your chin on their table, eyeing their plates, while you hump their leg. While the journalistic Code of Ethics prevents we at The Westsider from recommending such anti-social behaviour, we do reckon that would get the message across.
