I'm in a good mood because the last post made me laugh so much. Oh!, I don't mean the Last Post, which they sounded yesterday in honour of our war-dead, just my blithering nonsense on Google.
Aged parent and I disagree about the poppy: she believes that all labourers in war are worthy of honour, regardless of active service, and I believe that the seeds make a good old excuse for a night out! Sylv's father baked for England, and she thinks this is as good as standing in a trench. I buy a poppy because I know I could never have the courage to stand in a trench - or, in fact, present a loaf to my family. Have loaf, will use it.
I have today begun another new venture: one that relies upon people struggling with corporate cash-flow. I will be wearing black and white, with a ruff of feathers, and sporting a vicious beak.
The customers will abase themselves in tremulous fright, and I shall rail at them:
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime.
I reckon Byron was as Barking as am I. What the heck has a turtle to do with it all? Maybe I should wear a turtle-neck jumper when I am maddening to crime? Best bloody way to see out the last few years if you aren't lucky enough to be a Scouser with a Euro lottery ticket. Calm down!
By the way, my crime is in the supply business, so anyone who wishes to be transported to
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul
need just send a postal order to the usual address.
His Lordship again, and a far sight better than Alfred, Lord T, in the battle honours for poetic peers of the realm. Which reminds me: I am going to run an X Factor for the best ten poets, but of course, based upon my original choices! What a Cowell.
Email to the usual address anything or one you consider worthy of consideration - be1brian@hotmail.com
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