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“The village hall is already packed by the time we arrive. Myreton’s local band, the appropriately-named Unbeerables, is on stage, playing covers of old rock songs, as they have at every party for the past thirty years, to a handful of spectacularly uninterested men in varying stages of intoxication. Right now, they’re about half-way through Bohemian Rhapsody, and while it’s not a song generally associated with Halloween, the way they’re murdering the operatic passage really is genuinely shocking, so credit where credit’s due, I suppose.” — Andy Marr
The village hall is already packed by the time we arrive. Myreton’s local band, the appropriately-named Unbeerables, is on stage, playing covers of old rock songs, as they have at every party for the past thirty years, to a handful of spectacularly uninterested men in varying stages of intoxication. Right now, they’re about half-way through Bohemian Rhapsody, and while it’s not a song generally associated with Halloween, the way they’re murdering the operatic passage really is genuinely shocking, so credit where credit’s due, I suppose.