The Bug was sitting in a pub on the west coast of Ireland when news of the Concorde crash filtered through on the radio.
The identity of the speaker was unknown, but off the top of his spinning head he was arguing that the crash which killed some 115 souls would 'not impinge' on the supersonic jet's reputation for safety.
How's that for PR gaul? Or perhaps it was just James Strong from Qantas getting in some practice?

WHILE we were on the road in Ireland, a radio station had this phone-in competition: What musical instrument are you playing in Australia if you're known as a blow monkey? We hadn't heard of it either, but we threw political correctness out the window and guessed the answer.

Fourex is on the shelves here in England, backed by a TV ad showing a true blue engaging in a bit of horizontal folkdancing with a pretty young thing who is obviously not his wife. Want a beer before you go, she says from the doorway, brandishing that beloved gold can with the red Xs. I couldn't do that to (Blue), he replies indignantly, he's my best mate. Boom Boom! By the way, Fourex is marketed here at 4 percent to suit local tastes; let's hope they drink it quickly before it goes cold.

Foster's is big over here too, with Foster's on tap just about everywhere and Foster's umbrellas adorning plenty of beergardens. And, yes, in case you're wondering, no-one seems to drink it here either.

Now I know what it's like to be in Australia in summer if you hate cricket. The football season proper has started already and watching vastly overpaid millionaires kick a round ball up and down a paddock for 90 minutes for a nil-all draw is obviously an acquired taste. But wait, there's worse! Watching the day's lowlights of the opening round on the tele, The Bug was sure two players kissed sweetly and fully on the lips. Sure enough, the press had the picture the next morning, and there might have even been a bit of tongue involved. Admittedly, cricket players at the elite level sometimes get overly excited, and an Aussie fielding side has been known to engage in a little bit of dry rooting whenever they knock over the entire England top order with one ball. But at least they have the decency to leave the actual exchange of bodily fluids to the privacy of the dressing room.

Eat fast food in London town and your money's going to disappear ... quite fast.
A combo meal in a Burger King (read Hungry Jack) outlet in Soho costs three pounds 69 pence - would that be about $8 plus in real money? That's just a basic burger, mind, without cheese and just a hint of salads, and a bucket of dead chips that had to be exchanged for not-so-dead ones. The fading memory of a juicy Oz quarterpounder with cheese combo meal for around $5 makes us not want to eat our hearts out.