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@sir Actor wrote:
@toybulldog wrote:
@sir Actor wrote:
No one likes me anyway
I didn’t think much of him, but JOE 90 is starting to grow on me now
you wanna take this outside?
group hugs can take place anywhere
@sir Actor wrote:
No one likes me anyway
I didn’t think much of him, but JOE 90 is starting to grow on me now
We spent £2.5 million on that awful eight minute segment ? Each groan made it feel like a lifetime. To show the world a red bus that turned into a privet and some terrible dancers scrummaging to board it. There wasn’t a single knife in sight, but lots of sparkling multi-cultural umbrellas. What a glorious feeling – I’m happy again, and look, there’s Chris Hoy on a fold-up bicycle.
Now some X-factor winner emerges out of the privet joined by a pensioner with a guitar. How divine, it’s like a throwback to Cool Brittania and New Labour….all we need now is some gurning chav-celeb who never won anything for his country in a sport for which we can’t organise a team, and who earns more in a day than our competitors receive in a year.
Hiya Becks ! welcome to Team GB and Boris Johnston !
Awful………
very genuine posters on Just Chat
x
At last! I am alone! Nothing can be heard but the rumbling of a few belated and weary cabs. For a few hours at least silence will be ours, if not sleep. At last! The tyranny of the human face has disappeared, and now there will be no one but myself to make me suffer.
At last! I am allowed to relax in a bath of darkness! First a double turn of the key in the lock. This turn of the key will, it seems to me, increase my solitude and strengthen the barricades that, for the moment, separate me from the world.
Horrible life! Horrible city! Let us glance back over the events of the day: saw several writers, one of them asking me if you could go to Russia by land (he thought Russia was an island, I suppose); disagreed liberally with the editor of a review who to all my objections kept saying: “Here we are on the side of respectability,” implying that all the other periodicals were run by rascals; bowed to twenty or more persons of whom fifteen were unknown to me; distributed hand shakes in about the same proportion without having first taken the precaution of buying gloves; to kill time during a shower, dropped in on a dancer who asked me to design her a costume of Venustre; went to pay court to a theatrical director who in dismissing me said; “Perhaps you would do well to see Z….; he is the dullest, stupidest and most celebrated of our authors; with him you might get somewhere. Consult him and then we’ll see”: boasted (why?) of several ugly things I never did, and cravenly denied some other misdeeds that I had accomplished with the greatest delight; offense of fanfaronnade, crime against human dignity; refused a slight favour to a friend and gave a written recommendation to a perfect rogue; Lord! let’s hope that’s all!
Dissatisfied with everything, dissatisfied with myself, I long to redeem myself and to restore my pride in the silence and solitude of the night. Souls of those whom I have loved, souls of those whom I have sung, strengthen me, sustain me, keep me from the vanities of the world and its contaminating fumes; and You, dear God! grant me grace to produce a few beautiful verses to prove to myself that I am not the lowest of men, that I am not inferior to those whom I despise.
One O’Clock in the Morning
Charles BaudelaireRain Dogs
Tom WaitsI love the smell of Waterstones. I tried to download it once but was very, very sick.
and Todd Rundgren…………..
Jesus, help me find my proper place
Jesus, help me find my proper place
Help me in my weakness
‘Cos I’m falling out of grace
Jesus
JesusJesus
Velvet Undergroundmy paternal grand-mother was a simple Mexican washerwoman, gainfully employed in Queen Victoria’s service in a role befitting her talents; which were washing and generally being simple. She met a drunken seaman who floated her boat, and who then inspired her to emigrate to Lower Dorking, where they opened the very first Fray Bentos franchise in known existence. They produced my father who spent most of his life denying all knowledge of his upbringing which makes these questions so godamn hard to answer. For a while he insisted he was Princess Anastasia. I googled him once and it made him smile.
I have no knowledge of my mother, apart from the fact that she once hid in a loaf of bread for six months, and then returned to the debtors prison on the wild Orkney coast, where she mumbled about caterpillars and the refusal of her warders to hop in Japanese.
@cath 55 wrote:
@toybulldog wrote:
you’re not dagger are you ?
or
sorry aunty, welcome/bye xx
(but the style’s were so similar…………..)
