Pots and kettles, not to mention fine words and parsnips came to mind when the only the other day, the Head Honcho from Rome graced the EU Parliament with his sanctimonious presence.
In his address he chose the image of a grandmother to describe the short-comings of the political institution – elderly and haggard, suffering from weariness and ageing, no longer fertile and vibrant, in his humble opinion of course. Hardly a helpful homily, one would have thought – or even well-targetted.
Backside wonders whether he might ever have considered drawing a cameo of his own lot (to use an appropriate expression) whose longevity has never earned the revered title of grandparent, but whose daily behaviour for centuries has resembled that of a randy, pecunious little brother let loose in his own gangland; picking on his innocent victims at will without censure or hindrance from anyone resembling a parent or even a law-enforcement officer.
Luckily he fondly imagines he has supernatural backing for his hypocrisy.
Our cherished earthlings seem to have gone walkabout – again. Not so much as a byyourleave or abientot or seeya.
Meantime it’ s 14 degrees in new money and clear skies oop narth.
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?
Dryden wrote that about ‘dance’. And I know from bitter experience that the world is divided into dancers and the rest.
From my earliest youth my feet never really managed to get the messages from my brain or my spirit or wha’ever and imitate the silky moves I saw others executing so perfectly. Not ballroom, not square, not country, not jive! Not no how!
So many poetic occasions slipped from my grasp to end in flat-footed, prosaic words of apology.
I’ll bet there are some real Freds and Gingers amongst us too. Dammit!
As I recall, Scripture prescribes prayer as the appropriate response to them that despitefully use us.
The Archbishop however reckons that air attacks alone are insufficient to deal with IS. And he wants religious leaders to big up and condemm them. Allegedly war is fine if it supports a higher, selfless ideal. Does he mean protecting the oil fields?
- They demand to meet the king prior to the opening ceremony. Afterwards, there shall be a cocktail reception. Drinks shall be paid for by the Royal Palace or the local organizing committee.
- Separate lanes should be created on all roads where IOC members will travel, which are not to be used by regular people or public transportation.
- A welcome greeting from the local Olympic boss and the hotel manager should be presented in IOC members’ rooms, along with fruit and cakes of the season. (Seasonal fruit in Oslo in February is a challenge…)
- The hotel bar at their hotel should extend its hours “extra late” and the minibars must stock Coke products.
- The IOC president shall be welcomed ceremoniously on the runway when he arrives.
- The IOC members should have separate entrances and exits to and from the airport.
- During the opening and closing ceremonies a fully stocked bar shall be available. During competition days, wine and beer will do at the stadium lounge.
- IOC members shall be greeted with a smile when arriving at their hotel.
- Meeting rooms shall be kept at exactly 20 degrees Celsius at all times.
- The hot food offered in the lounges at venues should be replaced at regular intervals, as IOC members might “risk” having to eat several meals at the same lounge during the Olympics.
This month cherished wordsmiths can let their imaginations run riot.
The topic is ‘If we were….’. No holds barred while you wrestle with it. Open season on flights of fancy and airbased castles.
Just one small (!) requirement: the pome must end with ‘tyrannosaurus rex’. (Rhymes nicely with lots of things!)
Closing time/date: the witching hour when tricks and treats are dust and November arrives. Spooky, huh?
Milly kindly gave Auntie his speech so that we can all admire him in anticipation – not.
He is so totally screwed by the English Question that he’s doing a Bliar, fondly believing anybody buys it any more.
10 year plan? In his dreams.
Sorry to burden you, cherished reader, with my ignorance but what’s been happening in Scotland since 2010? Summat must’ve, as one says, because at the May general election 2 million Scottish voters supported Labour, LibDem and Tory combined and only half a million plumped for SNP.
Did half of those North British souls only vote non-SNP because SNP had no chance of influencing Westminster affairs with 6 seats? If so, that sounds to me like chickens and eggs. So what’s changed to satisfy them that SNP can do the business for them?
If any undecided Scottish voter chances to join you in reading this, may I point out that the descent from the cliff-top is a rush for extreme sporting types but for the rest of us it’s painful and perhaps fatal. My advice: don’t jump.