A funny thing happened on the road to Rio
It's Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent. General Custer, he of the face carved out of Mount Rushmore and last seen loitering in the pub doorway smoking fag after fag, is reputedly in Rio enjoying Mardis Gras. We picture him on his back in the middle of the road, a smile on his face after too many Tequila Slammers and gazing gratefully upwards while scantily clad Brazilians dance all over him as they make their way ever onwards in the parade. Feels like heaven. Heaven, meanwhile, is a place on Earth for Mr Champagne-Charlie who goes for £8 worth of pick-and-mix before we pile into the Yeovil Cineworld for an early evening showing of True Grit . 'Fill your hand you sonofabitch,' he says, reaching for the licorice comfits. 'That's a hell of a statement for a one-eyed fatman,' I retort. Mr Champagne-Charlie is neither one-eyed nor fat, but it seems the right response. The two of us are Western fanatics. In the auditorium, he pours scorn on the shot fired by Rooster...