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@panda12 wrote:
“The English are British and lots of people think the British are English but that annoys the Scottish and Welsh because although some think they’re British and some think they aren’t and some think they are but don’t want to be, they all agree that they definitely are not English.
The Irish mostly think they are Irish, apart from the ones who are Northern Irish. Some say that makes them British and Irish. But others disagree and say they should just be Irish and then some say they aren’t British either but part of the United Kingdom.
People from England, Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland can all play cricket for England because they’re British as can those from Ireland even though they aren’t British. So can South Africans.
The English play football for England unless they aren’t that good when they might try to play for Ireland. Those from the Isle of Wight are English, from Anglesey are Welsh and the Orkneys are Scottish, but although that means they aren’t from the island of Great Britain they’re still British.
The Channel Islanders depend on the crown which is what the Queen wears but they aren’t in the UK and those from the Isle of Man are the same, apart from their cats.”
yep.
That sounds about right.
(swooning with pride, with god knows what ancestry . . . . . . . . . . Mile End)
that’s what I call wishful thinking Tel
yeah, they call him the Karate King
Chopping children down like trees
Bringing cows to their knees
Making their udders bleedNow they call him the Karate King
Top of the shop in his robe
Nothing there can grow
When he’s aroundGoing chop, chop
Going chop, chop
Going chop, chop
Down in the gymnasiumThey call him the Karate King
Like a bird on a wing
Standing posing at the window
At the door in his vestHis white and muscled flexing at all the passing girls
Smashing his way through the window frames
Ripping apart his mother’s pearls
They’re dying on the dressing tableChop, chop
Chop, chop
Chop, chop
Chop, chopSo if you see the Karate King
Help him, help him
Maybe you’ll tie, tie his shoe laces
Come on, come on, comment on his pomaded hairTell him he would have been an excellent
Kamikaze pilot in the Second World War
‘Cause that’s what he wants to hear
That’s what he wants to hear in the gymnasiumChop, chop
Chop, chop
Chop, chop(not dedicated to moonshadow)
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how we met . . . ..
I never wanted to place ‘The Lemon Song’ by Zeppelin into my Top Ten bestest ever tracks at all, ever. Fought tooth and nail against it for years, just like my great-grandparents did, but eventually had to give in to the superbly funky bass line.
Now I feel like a complete fake, like I should present my penitent ar/se cheeks to a windswept Knebworth or something, and that would be a right drag. This morning I woke up to find that aliens had stolen my furniture and replaced it all with exact replicas. But the lemon thing is far worse.
Not happy.
@sceptical guy wrote:
Julie Andrews running round and round the hills, swinging her arms round like a loon, clear voice, not a swear word or naughty thought in sight. The first LP I ever bought. I wanted to marry this woman, so pure, so uplifting, so asexual. A nun with a bit of life but still not naughty. Oh would my wife be like her????!!!!
Twist and Shout was my first record, and an EP, three years earlier. I was really with it, liked the Beatles before anyone else in my class, and was totally in puppy-love with Paul McCartney’s face.
Being taken to see South Pacific when it first came to the town cinema in 1960. mam recruited me coz dad said it made him sick to think of the film. He was really ard, was our dad. Mitzi Gaynor running on the sand with her arms swinging around and jumping on a big rock as the blue sea hit the Sandy Shaw. Young Marine Lootenan’ holding an underage Vietnamese girl in his arms, and then swimming with her in an underwater lagoon to the lilting tune of Younger than Springtime.
Hey no reason to be so scared of life, I thought. Things were going to be all right, with Americans and Vietnamese loving one another, everyone smiling and helping one another and a warm sun shining on an ocean which was forever blue.
Yeah, life was going to be good when I grew up.
I like you.
Marjory Razorblade is as keen and sharp as can be
Will always settle my problems for me
She will sort out all my dusty neighbours
Cut a swatch right through their undignified ways
And if they talk about me behind my back
She will not play their game, she will not play that game, she will not play their game
Oh, Marjory Razorblade oh what a picture she made
In her long and her fusty dress and her hair that she plaited best
Oh what a woman, what a tongue, what an abrasive manner
And if anyone upsets me, they will regret it, they will regret it
Oh she’s mine though she’s over fifty-nine
She’s experience of the world far beyond my years
Oh mother me Marjory oh Razorblade
Mother me Marjory oh Razorblade(dedicated to moonshadow)
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@irish_lucy wrote:
fist and franticaly shouting
You have contributed a complete dis-service to this wonderful thread. How dare you.
I tried to calculate who many Hail Mary’s would be needed to recompensate for one average irish lucy post but got slightly distracted, when my brain exploded. . . . . . . . .
It’s like a bad Tarantino film round here right now.
damn you to hell and back
@jenndudess1 wrote:
Why is it that a bloke can sleep with thousands and be called a stud. Even applauded for his conquests.
but if a girl sleeps with a handfull of blokes she is branded a vile disgusting slut?It would only be a universal situation if females were cheering him on in the pub too.
Trying to sleep with thousands of women is an entirely natural and positive objective, when you’re in your mid-teens and exploding with acne.If thousand are too many and a handful too few. . . . . . .
might I suggest, as the perfect compromise . . . . . . 238 !!
