Cowboys and Indians. The last time I saw them in the flesh they were on the payroll at the City Chambers.
I played them when my mother, bless her, allowed because she said I scuffed my shoes playing the game.
I chanced to meet up with some genuine Cowboys and Indians in an ancient, 1964, movie called A Distant Trumpet. Surely one of Hollywood’s last of the genre. The Cavalry won, predictably, but not before the Injuns had taken a few scalps.
The star was Troy Donahue.
Troy? How’s that for a Christian name? Troy Gibson somehow doesn’t roll easily off the tongue. Mind you, I prefer Troy to Tristram but it’s all a matter of taste, isn’t it?
Some crusty old sage once advised me never to let anything get in the way of a good story. So tell us, John, where’s the story? Search me.
However, I can tell you where I got this one, on my most recent sortie to the Job Centre. And it’s a home posting, your chance to get on to Her Majesty’s payroll. Queenie is looking for a maid down there at the palace “to clean and care for everything from carpets and furniture to historic vases and works of art”, the ad goes.
Don’t all get killed in the rush. I understand the lucky applicant will trouser or skirt £16,000 a year. Barbados here we come!