errrrrrr, i don't actually KNOW that. i've been told that. ummmm, and it's all right, don't bother preparing a soundwave.
so no more prunes, either?
I have prunes from time to time - because I love 'em! With custard.
Don't you got a mike and such? Sure you don't wanna hear?
ummmmm, it's ok. the headset's broken. yeah, that's it. the headset's broken.
((you don't think she can tell i've got my fingers crossed behind my back?))
Yeah - I can tell - PFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBLLLLLLLLT!
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See also : Lifestyle not genes says new diet book
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The most common side effects with methylparabenzinate are dick shrinkage, rabbit ears, hairy tongue syndrome, unexpected screams and rages, murder, hysteria, alcoholism and manic-4am floor scrubbing syndrome.
Other less important side effects include nausea, vomiting, dizziness ,palpitations, headache, involuntary ejaculation, increased heart rate, increased blood pressure, psychosis and death.
Scanning back a few pages, just to catch up on the happenings, I discovered an article thoughtfully offered up by Gautam and concerning the Bhangra Dance. I found the article stimulating and enlightening but what really struck me was one particular sentence. The beautifully constructed sentence flowed like wine and powerfully encapsulated the essence of this thread. It was as follows...
They recite witty couplets known as bolis and out of sheer exuberance mouth meaningless sounds such as hoay, hoay.
here is an exuberant story!
"Rubber ducks spotted floating in the Pacific
An armada of toy ducks is expected to make landfall in Britain within weeks, at the end of an epic 11 year voyage from the Pacific Ocean.
The little yellow ducks were washed overboard from a container ship in 1992.
They have since floated round the United States, through the Arctic and past Greenland.
The remnants of the fading flotilla are now heading down the eastern seaboard of the United States, although a break away group has been spotted heading for Britain.
The American company that made the ducks is offering money to anyone finding them onshore in the US, though the offer is not being made to any British duck finders."
Makes me sad - thinking of all those little ducks - out there in the biggest bath-tub in the world, for eleven years - being picked off one by one - sinking, little lonely trails of bubbles....waaaaaaah!
I imagine the ducks will be more like orange in colour by the time they reach these shores. Will we launch our first line of ships against this impending armada or just run up the white flag I wonder.
So it's duc a l'orange for the next few years then, followed by souffle de lapin and washed down with a few gallons of that nice Rosemount Shiraz/Cabernet. Should keep us happy. Still wondering what to do with the rest of my life now that senility is fast approaching. Interesting thing I noticed since going to the gym, quite apart from the fact that there are a LOT of what I can only describe as my peers, persons of a certain age trying fruitlessly to hold back the sands of time like King Canute with the waves, the other thing I noticed is the " I don't see you if you are in a certain age group syndrome".
I am as bad at this as anyone else. Whilst myself and my peer group are seen as a group of grey people by the young and fit good looking younger gym types, I myself fell into the trap , whilst waiting for the seniors group-over 70's and above, to finish their session before us others could go into the gym. On entering the gym the seniors all looked the same to me, when suddenly someone called out my name, I looked at this person for several seconds before realising it was one of my older neighbours, maybe it was because it was also out of context and my frames of reference had all been changed. I mean I was not expecting to see her at the gym of all places, then I thought the same could be said of me by the younger ones. C'est la vie.
That concludes a letter from England by Hiama the gym fiend. Just off to tuck into a nice helping of my duc a l'orange with sea vegetables.
I think I shall just go and slit my wrists now.......or, unburdened, crawl towards death...
AT THE OTHER END OF THE TELESCOPE
the people are very small and shrink,
dwarves on the way to netsuke hell
bound for a flea circus in full
retreat toward sub-atomic particles--
difficult to keep in focus, the figures
at that end are nearly indistinguishable,
generals at the heads of minute armies
differing little from fishwives,
emperors the same as eskimos
huddled under improvisations of snow--
eskimos, though, now have the advantage,
for it seems to be freezing there, a climate
which might explain the population's
outré dress, their period costumes
of felt and silk and eiderdown,
their fur concoctions stuffed with straw
held in place with flexible straps of bark,
and all to no avail, the midgets forever
stamping their match-stick feet,
blowing on the numb flagella of their fingers--
but wait, bring a light, clean the lens ...
can it be those shivering arms are waving,
are trying to attract attention, hailing you?
seen from the other end of the telescope,
your eye must appear enormous,
must fill the sky like a sun,
and as you occupy their tiny heads
naturally they wish to communicate,
to tell you of their diminishing perspective--
yes, look again, their hands are cupped
around the pinholes of their mouths,
their faces are swollen, red with effort;
why, they're screaming fit to burst,
though what they say is anybody's guess,
it is next to impossible to hear them,
and most of them speak languages
for which no Rosetta stone can be found--
but listen hard, use your imagination ...
the people at the other end of the telescope,
are they trying to tell you their names?
yes, surely that must be it, their names
and those of those they love, and possibly
something else, some of them ... listen ...
the largest are struggling to explain
what befell them, how it happened
that they woke one morning as if adrift,
their moorings cut in the night,
and were swept out over the horizon,
borne on the ebbing tide and soon
to be discernible only as distance,
collapsed into mirage, made to become
legendary creatures now off every map.
.... george bradley
Blimey, Deb, what a re-entrance!
We gonna see lots more of you?
Please?
That George Bradley eh -something else man
YEh Debacle give us your stuff
Meanwhile
An Obsessive Combination Of Onotological Inscape, Trickery And Love
Busy, with an idea for a code, I write
signals hurrying from left to right,
or right to left, by obscure routes,
for my own reasons; taking a word like writes
down tiers of tries until its secret rites
make sense; or until, suddenly, RATS
can amazingly and funnily become STAR
and right to left that small star
is mine, for my own liking, to stare
its five lucky pins inside out, to store
forever kindly, as if it were a star
I touched and a miracle I really wrote.
Anne Sexton
That's in the realm of possibles, Deb.
Actually, I can't quite figger how I come to be here. Thought I was logging in to the Raven's Rookery. Little difference, I reck ... not having been in either for a spell ... nor any place else, come to that.
Noticed there's been 29,000 odd postings (well, not all odd, surely) since I was last aboard, and judging from your stats, you must be responsible for the goodliest number on 'em. Take that as a compliment, wack; you've always been the greatest yakkity-yakker, 'cept p'raps for Pyewhackett.
Pfffffffffft...
hiama, howdy...
That's a grand pome, and I enjoyed your gymnastical post, likewise ... although I don't frequent such places, meself, favouring Winston Churchill's regimen -- a grueling game of chess followed by a hot shower and a rub-down (the large seegar and equally large brandy went with saying, of course.)
Debacle,
I also enjoy the finer things in life and the gym means I can enjoy them for longer !!!!
I agree with you on the profligacy of our dear Debs, pure quality
Debacle! Howdy!
Deb has been responsible for fully a third of the posts???????? Wow.
