Serious remark: I really gotta run. Driving lessons in the morning. I'll be back though. With or without Olav, cigares, Beatles, smelly socks, Jespah and bad cartoons (other thread). Hasta la vista!
And the testosterone kid exits(stage left)
SLAM!
hahah.
I don't like malodorant socks, or cigars (how can you like cigars and not cigarettes?*) I like the Beatles but they do not often cheer me up. Jespah and bad cartoons are delightful, and I'm surprising that there has not been a sort of combination of the two.
(Incidentally, good luck, Rick!)
Wait! Wait! Did the Queen Mary leave without me? I was busy buying armloads of flowers at the dock, to throw overboard while waving at those below saying, "Bon Voyage!"
Rick blew 'er up I'm sorry to say. I had to jump over board and now I'm sopping wet and ready to kick some botty and he's run away!
Typical!
does this forum mostly consist of people from england/europe????
the Chinese are making inroads
"I love a sunburnt country..."
Or another poem:
"I'm an Australian
Born and bred,
Long in the leg
And thick in the head"
The truth is there's folks from all over the place.
I miss my Mom cookie...recite me an Oz poem...an old one...
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
In silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to their bondage --
The kingdom of sleep.
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
Oh, wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
'Tis then that the stories
Of bushland are told.
Unnumbered I hold them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories
The breeze in the myalls
Are part of these stories.
The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains' rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.
Without these, indeed, you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of the singer,
The lilt of the tune.
But, as one half-hearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales, roughly wrought of
The bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days.
And, blending with each
In the mem'ries that throng,
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.
Andrew Barton Paterson (`Banjo')
Hope your memories always hold that echo of song, Peter Pan.
I'm brushing away a tear...
Just got back from driving lessons (8 o'clock in the morning, now it's around 9:05 here). Third lesson so far. Went well. Hit some Australian toerists, but hey, that can happen. And why I like cigares, and don't like cigarettes (...) Good question.
Rick d'Israeli wrote:.......And why I like cigares, and don't like cigarettes (...) Good question.
Because they are thicker ??
Something tells me it's dangerous to answer that question ... :wink:
