In these new times of austerity an advice column can’t afford to be overly picky – sure we’d like to spend all of our time knitting back together the sinews of a broken heart or wrestling with deep philosophical conundrums. Sometimes though you have to take what comes your way – and to be honest even a fairly simple issue can hide a deeper wrenching of the emotions. Which is by way of explaining why we took some interest in the bluntly direct enquiry from Pharis Romero: “Where is the gambling man? Tell me where the poor boy gone?“. There was a slight concern raised as to his possible location if he continued to play cards and throw dice, as Pharis heartbreakingly suggested that her fear was that “if you don’t throw them dice away we’ll see you in the coming hell.” We noted that we’d moved into the sphere of theology which spiked our interest.
There were though a number of prosaic minded advisors, not least among them The Soggy Bottom Boys, who suggested that “he’s in the gaol house now“, although a quick series of telephonic exchanges ascertained that that was not in fact the case. We were somewhat stumped at this point. Until agony uncle Jerry Garcia mentioned that if we were discussing “an honest Denver boy” then he had it on good authority that he could be found in Mexico – the bad news being that he’s added murder to his list of ill deeds. “Don’t take my word for it though“, he added, “ask The Lone Bellow.” So we did. And they agreed. Sometimes, and this is one of them, we just don’t have good news to share.
“The trouble is“, added Tom Russell as Pharis Romero left the office dabbing at her eyes with a lace ‘kerchief, “that these gamblin’ types share a don’t care attitude and “you people if you don’t like me then you can just leave me alone” is their general code. And they don’t reform. Their epitaph, too often” he added “is there’s changes in the weather, and there’s changes in the sea, there’s changes in my true love, but there ain’t no change in me.”
