Kenny Everett on Radio London on the afternoon of 4th February 1967, the day after having the exclusive first ever play of The Beatles’ Strawberry Fields Forever. (duration 2 minute 37 seconds)
Category: autre
retina
In the summer of 2020, during the first lockdown, the retina in my right eye detached. The operation to re-attach it went well but, a few months afterwards, there were complications. I now have much […]
the partridge
Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious e-mail from the day before—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, […]
Father’s day: remembering
when you are old and grey, and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire; take down this book…
fluid may weather
dark sea . dark sky
the grrreat conjunction
(jupiter and saturn quite close together) check out a couple of jupiter’s moons in the close-up
THE HARVEST IS PAST, THE SUMMER IS ENDED, AND WE ARE NOT SAVED. – JEREMIAH 8:20
eye sore
Day 0: I notice a sudden increase in floaters in my right eye – they are massed together and form a blurry patch that moves across my vision when I look from side to side […]
working from home shenanigans
. tiny tim . . new potato virus . . viru .
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That is no country for old men, The young In one another’s arms
birds in the trees, —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect […]
An aged man is but a paltry thing
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; […]
et tu brutalist?: well i’m certainly leaning that way
it is a truth universal that a middle-aged single man, being in possession of some expendable income, must purchase an electric guitar
he encountered there angels of evil, terrible and without pity, carrying savage weapons
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book and dream..
and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it
door of stuff
good bye henley road
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
peter ustinov, goldie hawn, oliver reed (remember, repeat)