Scotland plans to reduce the Royal funding. Is this the thin end of the monarchic wedge? Will regions destroy the Windsors by attrition? Will Andrew have to go by easyJet? Will the PoW have to iron a shirt and tie a shoelace? Is this the end of the world?
Philip of that ilk has made it – he’s now commemorated in Poets’ Corner. But why?
His background (Coventry, grammar school, cynic) is impeccable but his ‘work’ seems to me to be underwhelming. It isn’t poetic, quirky or evocative – unless grumpy self-pity counts.
So if he’s the best of his generation, gawd ‘elp the rest.
Another crude usage from Labour:
‘Debate me!’ quoth he, addressing the people’s favourite, Cameron, who’d refused to join in a tv head2head…,,,
What is he on?
That’s where everyone else must be – for two days now. Meanwhile the chariot rusts away, awaiting the invention of the bike. 😣
It’s true, doesn’t matter if it is lumbago, rheumatism, arthritis, sciatica or a bout of the gout this is guaranteed to cure the lot in two days.
Firewood, cut it, split it, stack it on the woodpile.
There are three trees worth here, a Hickory, an Oak and a Maple, all hardwoods, probably totaling about three cords when cut and stacked, seasoned it should weigh about six tons, wet as it is it probably weighs twice that. The big stuff with the dark heartwood is the hickory. Bitternut is the variety that grows around here and it is very heavy wood, and one of the best in terms of heat content for firewood.
The self-acclaimed greatest ever, wannabe knight Boycott, says the current ODI captain Morgan is not as good as he thinks he is!
Why do Auntie and the DT pay him?
….the royal families in London, Madrid and Copenhagen.
You all know of the goings on in the Spanish and American courts which allegedly implicate the Houses of Bourbon and Windsor, both suggesting a lack of awareness of dignity, duty and accountability.
And today the Crown Prince here is being pilloried for his own disregard of the royal code. Twice during the weekend when the bridge over the Great Belt was closed owing to the persistent storms, he chose to drive over. Just him, no security – while thousands of other motorists had to wait or find other routes.
Nice job, eh?
I heard this story when I was a lad from my father and grandfather; no mention of it was ever made in school.
The geezer in the muddy boots is Dr. Orville Ward Owen a medical doctor from Detroit, the date is May 1911, the place is close to the low tide mark of the River Wye in the shadow of the walls of Chepstow Castle.
What led the man to this place was never explained to me back then, although what he sought was well known to my relatives, and their view was that he was wasting his time and money. He made several visits, one lasting longer than six months. In all twelve or fourteen shafts were driven into the river bottom, some deeper than twenty feet. All he found were some heavy timbers that were the remains of a Roman landing stage, these were not what he was looking for.
It’s a bad bout of sciatica – probably the worst man-strain ever presented – rendering both of us grumpy and immobile.
Why am I burdening you with this news, cherished reader? Because we’re seeking both sympathy and palliative ideas, if you have a festive moment to spare.
Thank you. 😣
So many sportsfolk on my telly touch the ground, kiss their fingers and cross themselves as they reach the pitch/course/court or wha’ever. Then – if they score/win/get lucky – they point to heaven all over again.
So presumably their deity likes to be congratulated for supporting their holy efforts but is totally uninterested in failure, the more common event during any sport?
Now to my mind this practice demonstrates that the deity concerned is not an equal opportunity kinda deity but subscribes only to the Daily Mail. Only call if you have made it!
I really don’t mind. Do you?