PAULITORIAL - 6

PAUL:	They say you can never go home.  But God 
	knows, after the backslapping became 
	backstabbing over at Townie TeeVee last 
	week in the wake of my talk-show debacle, 
	didn't I want to.

	My first job in the media was here at the 
	Broadcasting Corporation of Newfoundland 
	... a summer replacement sportscaster.  
	Then, trumped up on my own signifigance, 
	I left for what I imagined were greener 
	pastures in Los Angeles.  But when things 
	went so horribly wrong down there, when I 
	got so badly messed up, where did I go to 
	dry out, to pull myself together?  Home 
	... the BCN's lonely repeater station on 
	the Funk Islands, that's where.
	
	And how then did I return to the land of 
	the living?  I booked passage on The 
	Great Eastern, home. 
	
	Home is where the heart is 
	and this station is mine, 
	cables it's capilliaries
	great magnets its mind.
	
	What lured me away from the nest?  How 
	was I tempted?  Perhaps I am weak.  
	Indeed, as I found out, there are some 
	lessons that must be learned over and 
	over again ... and the most important of 
	these is humility.
	
	Remember when you were a kid ... those 
	eternal summer holidays around the bay, 
	up in the country?  They ended, late one 
	night, after hours in the car ... you 
	came through the front door of the house, 
	got under the covers of your own bed ... 
	and the smell ... that feel ... home.
	
	Resist though I might, fate has drawn me 
	back to this familiar chair, has 
	compelled me to chant, once again, the 
	sacred, cleansing mantra of radio ... " 
	(blow twice) testing, testing ... one, 
	two, three ... (tap tap) Is this thing 
	on?"
	
	God, it's good to be home.