Exclusive: The Days Of Wine And Noses & Bonus TGM!
Stop Press!! New and groundbreaking The Ginger Man adventure unfolding in comments section – HELLO MR CHIPPY…..
cr:benrybobenry:flickrToday…..an ugly story from an ugly culture: JOURNALISM.
This is a story I hoped I would NEVER have to write. But it is a story that must be told. It comes from a man, once one of Australia’s most revered medical correspondents: a man who has lived for more than 30 years with the consequences of the terrible events that unfolded at the inaugural International Cancer Congress in Sydney.
This is his story……Â Â
Credit: christopherharte: flicker.
“…..I know it’s all changed now but back then, I really enjoyed dealing with the public relations blokes representing drug companies.
For example, once over a long and lavish lunch at the Wentworth Hotel, I accepted a sample of a new blood pressure tablet. I returned to the office with my eyes fast turning into pin pricks……another time, I trialled a similar medication as a suppository……same result……
But KJ, I NEED to tell you about that International Cancer Congress. I’m getting on and every time I see a story about journalists and ethics, I’m right BACK THERE……
The first thing I admit is that I was very friendly with PR people…..
Some journalists adopted the pose that they were above all that but at least I was honest.
I had the incontinence aids gold pens, the prostate test kit leather satchels, the haemorrhoid cream coasters, the asthma pump ashtrays, the lot!
Anyway, back to THAT DAY. The PR bloke (a very good operator) decided that, for medical reporters, it would be too tiresome sitting there and taking notes, listening to ALL of the speakers. So, he’d bring the the best into the ‘press room’ for questioning.
By 9am KJ, four medical reporters – all old hands – were holed up in this very plush hotel room.
*THE INCIDENT:
The next thing I remember is two hotel staff pushing a massive fridge on a trolley into the room. I clearly remember this because I’d never seen a fridge like it. It had double glass doors with several shelves. It had internal lights…….assuming a candlelight glow.
After the Goliath fridge had been set up, the four of us blokes just sat there agog. Then we pounced. Every type of alcoholic beverage imaginable: beer, stout, vodka, fine scotch, schnapps, gin, cherry brandy……..
Soon the men of the press were quite animated KJ……Â
The room was full of smoke and laughter. Servants appeared to refresh the drinks supply and empty ashtrays. We were all using the phone to say hello to current and former wives. Occasionally, guest speakers would present themselves. After a couple of perfunctory questions, they were dismissed.
*THE KEYNOTE SPEAKER:
It was around midday KJ that our busy public relations man brought in the star of the conference - the first top Russian immunologist to come here. He was a big bear of a man and appeared aglow with love for humanity.Â
After I spent half-an-hour explaining my Theory Of Cancer, he gave me a strong and beautiful hug, lifting me into the air. After four or five quick shots of vodka, the esteemed professor was returned to the conference proper.
*THE FALLOUT:
By the time lunch was wheeled in we were all arrestable drunk KJ. We were dropping oysters and chickens on the floor. We feared for each others safety…..
(Source breaks down)
…………I cannot go on anymore about this particular assignment KJ, I simply CANNOT.
I have spoken out in the hope that young journalists will NEVER have to go though what I did on the day of that congress. I hope that they may negotiate well the rocky road that can be ethics and potential conflicts of interest.
*MOPPING UP:
I am sorry that things were NOT so clear back then. And I am sorry that I failed to file on what was a watershed date in the fight against cancer internationally.
*****************************************************************
Well, well, well…….lots to think and talk about in here. Thank you to my source for being so honest. I’m sure you can appreciate how difficult it was. Are ethics important in your everyday life? Do you enjoy ethical dilemmas? Because what happened in that hotel room was more than 30 years ago, should it be even be brought up? Is YOUR life just one big conflict of interest? And, anything else….of course.
Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!
May 24th, 2009 at 4:30 pm
Grace…….
For that which we are about to receive we are truly thankful to Ciba Geigy, Johnson and Johnson, Pfizer, Boehringer Ingelheim, Ideation, Central Public Relations,….and the Australian Pharaceutical Manufacturers’ Association.
Dear Mr Chadwick, have you ever won a Walkley? KJ.
May 24th, 2009 at 9:27 pm
This is an important story
Jot it down…..
This is an important meal,
Bolt it down.
This is an important wine
Drink it down…..
The PR Man’s important,
Stop that frown.
Got to file that yarn
But I’m goin’ down.
This is an important story…..
This is an important story…..
This is an important story……
What’s it about?
May 25th, 2009 at 7:26 am
Australian political history has been made……
The Rev Kev has become the first Prime Minister to issue the aptly name Harold Holt decree:
DON’T GO SURFING.
Brave, I thought, very brave when I saw The Rev Kev on the news last night. Afterall, we are a nation of extreme surfers – wild weather or not.
I will ring the PM’s office today and let you know when the Presidential Surfing Ban has been lifted.
In the meantime, NO SURFING please.
May 25th, 2009 at 8:56 am
‘Oldest blogger’ dies. Hey KJ, you mean I was led here under false pretences?
A Spanish great grandmother had the title of the world’s bravest geriatric blogger, according AFP.
But still, I can see the headlines into the future…..
……..The skeleton of a small Greek woman was discovered in a inner city suburb with a rolled up Zombie chew stuck down her throat.
Police say the woman went missing after her husband returned home from an overseas trip.
After kissing him on the cheek she ran out into the street, yelling GOODBYE.
Thrilled you’re home honey but I’m going out alone in public without two bags of food and toilet paper!
Not quite living under Franco but could still be dangerous.
Dear Greek and loving it,
I am glad your hubby is back safely. I take it that HIS temperature is normal. Did he bring you home snaps of his thermal imagining photo shoot
at the airport? You’re an angry women, G<. Please seek help. KJ
May 25th, 2009 at 9:57 am
Dear The Rev Kev,
I know you are having trouble with your image, particularly in the difficult period following Budgie Night.
Time to call set Cool Cat among the budgies?
Here is COOL CAT: (Under ‘Production’ click on Cool Cat).
http://www.charlieschmidt.com/production.asp?play=J—aiyznGQ
May 25th, 2009 at 12:29 pm
KJ,
Your man The Dude’s right on the money. The Rev Kev was in a terrible mood this morning. When I took him his skim latte (what is this shit they drink?), he threw his hair dryer at me as I was leaving his office, screaming:
I said: DOUBLE SKIM EXTRA LITE, YOU FOOL…..
Well that’s okay, we’re all getting used to The Rev’s little tanties. But things got worse, as I heard sounds of a commotion coming from The Rev Kev’s waiting room. A really strange noise…like a snore, a burp and a fart rolled into one.
Thinking there could be a security issue, I flung open the door to see the PM’s alarmed receptionist (ashen-faced) pointing at a dishevelled man lying comatose on the best settee with a couple of bottles of red clutched to his ample gut.
The receptionist whispered: He says his name’s Bob Ellis.
Have you heard of this bloke?
Dear Gazza,
Ah…Mr Ellis….No less than the chronicler of the colourful parade of characters and vibrant history that IS the ALP.
One thing – if the great man ever ends up in the back of your limo, DO NOT mention The The Big C or his wife, Tanya. Mr Ellis’ writings have always been on the flamboyant side. A sensational defamation case in the ACT Supreme Court was the result of one musing.
In your job Gazza, it’s probably a good idea to appraise yourself of other movers and shakers who’ve sued for defamation. Print this list off and keep it in the glovebox.
http://www.maynereport.com/articles/2009/03/10-1024-2493.html
KJ.
May 25th, 2009 at 1:24 pm
The Rev Kev is pushing his body into dangerous territory.
His fat-free dietary regime is to blame.
He is potentially suffering from a newly identified, extraordinarily rare condition –
Pollie-rexia.
Pollie-rexia is caused by cholesterol and lipid deprivation……
Symptoms include delusions of grandeur, poll festishisation and sudden and dramatic mood swings.
I am available (on an anonymous basis) to visit The Lodge to offer up everything I know about Pollie-rexia.
May 25th, 2009 at 3:38 pm
I thought Polly-rexia was a genetic mutation caused by a Budgie being housed with Inspector Rex.
May 25th, 2009 at 5:01 pm
I wish I’d become a journalist so I could suffer some conflict of interest.
How exciting that would be……
I only buy regulation craft paddle pop sticks and such from designated Departmental contractors and must book the most outrageously expensive 50 minute performances from endorsed theatre groups.
Here, I’m sometimes tempted to venture into murky waters.
Oh for a meeting of principals ……. in a smoky room: Happy, drunk.
Perhaps the recommended school photographer companies could sponsor?
As a teacher though, I have never EVER been tempted to venture into promotion of the private school system.
Megsy, you are a credit to your profession! HOWEVER…..I know this woman from Leeton who’s the mastermind behind Australia’s little-known (but booming) illicit paddle pop stick trade. I can put you in touch with her….NO pressure, of course……KJ.
May 25th, 2009 at 5:05 pm
KJ,
I also do as I’m told.
I shall pass on The Rev Kev’s no surfing edict at assembly.
We used to have something known as the five o’clock wave – caused by massive amounts water being daily released downstream to irrigation channels.
Alas no more……
Never mind, I’m used to strange looks from students.
Dear Megsy,
I became aware of the five o’clock wave when I was a student (albeit briefly) at the old Riverina College of Advanced Education, Wagga, in the seventies.
It was said that desperate students plucked from surfing regions used to take their boards to a river beach – and catch ONE big wave that came through, compliments of the Murrumbigee Irrigation/Snowy Mountains Scheme.
* I have often wondered whether this was a regional myth. Roma Street, can you assist? KJ.
May 25th, 2009 at 11:01 pm
To The Ginger Man,
Who are you? Where are you? Do you wear fluffy jumpers?
May 26th, 2009 at 6:26 am
While I’m here in this vile site, I suggest that Garry Handjob is THE MASTER of embellishment. Handjob, get a life. (Everyone at RN thrives on lattes, weak or otherwise)
The Rev Kev would NOT refer to anyone as FOOL. Perhaps he should make an exception.
Confused,
I also have a suggestion: Go easy on Gazza Handjob – THE MOST GIFTED ROVER THE LEETON REDDIES EVER PUT ON A FOOTBALL FIELD. KJ.
May 26th, 2009 at 6:46 am
KJ,
I was not behind the door when God handed out the NOSE gift.
Thank God, I can whiff an ethical dilemma before it has turned the corner!
The Days of Wine & Noses are alive and kicking. Even Swine Flu can’t threaten their delights.
I follow my nose wherever it goes and end up in some pretty interesting places.
I will be back. Even had a beak at the map of Leeton!
Suddenly, The (Budgie) Beak appears! And NO surprises….The Beak is sassy and streetwise. The Beak is our sorta poster! KJ.
May 26th, 2009 at 10:23 am
Dear Miss Jones,
I am homo sui juris.
I have a white jumper from the Aran Islands, given to me by Peter O’Toole.
May 26th, 2009 at 1:53 pm
Drive a car when you are drunk,
You certainly are sunk…..
Get completely wasted astronaut,
You shall certainly get caught……
Fly an airplane when you’re bummed,
Out of the air crew you’ll be drummed…..
Drink with a Minister and what he thunk,
Like being alone with a monkey’s unk….
Pissing like you had an elephant’s trunk,
Is OKAY, right?
If you are pissed and you know it,
Clap your hands….
If you’re pissed and you know it,
Clap your hands…
If you’re pissed and you know it,
And you really want to show it…..
Clap your hands, Clap your hands,
Clap your hands.
TBL, you never cease to stun! A switch from the contemporary to a more traditional, beautifully expressive, folkloric style? KJ.
May 26th, 2009 at 2:41 pm
Oh dear, when journalists parade themselves as sinners, cynical reptiles, free loaders……
Remember it was a journo who started The Big Issue for homeless people to sell.
Recall the articles of Alan Ramsey and let’s not forget THE champion, I.F. Stone………..
The Secret History of Izzy
D.D. Guttenplan
The Nation
(Full article)
http://www.thenation.com/doc/20090601/guttenplan
(Excerpt)
…..To the Meet the Press audience on December 12, 1949, there was nothing special about the confrontation between I.F. Stone and Dr. Morris Fishbein.
As editor of the Journal of the American Medical Association, Fishbein was a well-known foe of what the AMA called ’socialized medicine’ in any form.
Stone, a sometime member of the Meet the Press panel since 1946, could be relied on for provocative and persistent questioning.
The country’s most influential physician had already denounced national health insurance as ‘the kind of regimentation that led to totalitarianism in Germany.’
When Fishbein also condemned compulsory coverage as ’socialistic’, Stone demonstrated why the show’s producers considered him ‘a good needler’ :
Dr Fishbein, let’s get nice and rough. In view of his advocacy of compulsory health insurance, do you regard Mr Harry Truman as a card-bearing communist, or just a deluded fellow traveller?
The arguments over national healthcare may not have advanced much over the next sixty years, but for I.F. Stone that broadcast marked a kind of limit.
It would be nearly two decades before Stone, who rose to prominence as a correspondent for this magazine and a columnist for the legendary New York tabloid PM, would next appear on national television.
He would never be invited back on Meet the Press. When, three years later, he found himself in effect blacklisted – not even The Nation would give him a job – he started I.F. Stone’s Weekly, the one-man newspaper that is an inspiration and a challenge to the current generation of bloggers….
May 26th, 2009 at 3:54 pm
Dear Kerrie Jean,
I read your medical reporter’s story with tears streaming down my face.
Those were wonderful days, happy days. I worked in PR myself back then and remember fondly journalists like your friend who’d go WAY BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY to test any product put in front of them.
Now, we live in a sad nanny state where fine, strapping young Australian men can’t even strip off and jump into the foaming surf, without being named in one of The Rev Kev’s sermons.
My friends in Blighty say that it’s even worse over there – a friend of Lord Fartingdon’s told me that he’s been outed by the gutter press just for claiming moat cleaning on his parliamentary expenses.
Next thing, they’ll be telling me that employing Jose, my Latin American pool guy on one of those special visas, is somehow illegal. REEEELY!
In fact, when Jose was towelling me off after my morning swim, he (rather impertinently I thought) brought up the matter of his pay.
I had to explain to him about the GFC and told him he was really very lucky to be here at all and (for his own good) it would be best if he kept quiet.
These are difficult times, Kerrie Jean, but I think, as in the Blitz, we’ll come through – if we ALL PULL TOGETHER.
Dear Miss Pearls,
Yes, yes. Amazing days. Crazy. For example, I did three stints as a newsreader on Triple J. Mad. You wouldn’t believe what products some of my colleagues were testing – selfless.
Gosh, Jose sounds like a pain. What a thankless task having to keep him in check with his increasingly bizarre demands. It must be difficult NOT to come over like a real bitch. Very difficult……..KJ.
May 26th, 2009 at 10:25 pm
To The Ginger Man,
Do all homos sui juris wear second hand white jumpers from the Aran Islands?
May 26th, 2009 at 10:28 pm
I’ll tell you something for free Libby, Jose has been around….
The Pool Cleaner,
As you’ve told us before, YOU work at Parliament House. Obviously, pool cleaner circles in Canberra are very close knit. KJ.
May 27th, 2009 at 9:28 am
KJ,
We’ve always known that poetry can be a dirty, dangerous business (Dylan Thomas knocking back 38 double whiskies before saying: I think that’s a record and dropping dead, Lord Byron hopping into the cot with his half sister.
………And now, more distressing news from the Old Dart, via ABC News
The first female Oxford Professor of Poetry has quit after admitting publicising old allegations of sexual harassment against her rival.
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/05/26/2580782.htm
This is a crisis, and I can think of only one person to fill the vacancy.
STEP FORWARD, THE BIG L.
Dear The Man in Grey,
Let you be the first to know – I am due to meet TBL at midday. I intend to quiz him on all aspects of his personal and creative life BEFORE I make high-level representations to those entrusted with keeping poetry alive (and clean) in Britain.
I will appraise you of the results of my discussions…..
KJ.
May 27th, 2009 at 11:10 am
Dear Miss Libby Pearls,
Please be aware, Lord Fartingdon (’Farty’) has NEVER cleaned his moat – NOT ONCE, EVER!!
Now, back to ‘Hello Mr Chippy’.
May 27th, 2009 at 12:42 pm
I have just met The Big Lebowski for luncheon.
He refused to answer questions about his personal life.
At one stage, he became quite agitated. He looked me straight in the eye and said:
Look KJ,
I’m A Big Try On,
NOT Lord Byron….
TBL said he sought NO proscribed honours. The thought offended him.
Leaving suddenly, he said (in a distinctive clipped voice)
I Am But A Man,
Born Out Of His Time,
With An Uncanny Ability,
To Knock Out A Rhyme.
And then he was gone. KJ.
May 27th, 2009 at 1:41 pm
Hi KJ,
Just a quickie to let you know that things are hotting up at Parliament House.
I put it down to The Rev Kev breaking out of his diet.
One of his Chinese business mates – a Mr FUK U2 – left him a gift of a HUGE Box of CHOCOLATES – and although The Rev Kev said at the time he’d save it for Christmas to give to the homeless, I noticed later in the morning the box was lying empty, discarded in his wastepaper basket.
When I last left his office, The Rev was pacing up and down…and every now and again, his hands snatched at his sides, as if drawing a brace of pistols.
Then he’d go BANG! BANG! I GOT YOU! I GOT YOU! (just like when we were kids).
Gee Gazza Handjob,
A highly disturbing report BUT not surprising. Something HAD to give. What we have is a PM and First Lady (from the look of it) having a JOINT daily intake of no more than 450 calories. Yes, weight loss is dramatic but ultimately, unsustainable and counterproductive – everything ranging from terrible mood swings, libido issues and free floating anxiety. I blame the impending visit of the French First Couple for the Rudd family’s obsession with appearances. KJ.
May 27th, 2009 at 4:39 pm
I write to inform you that I would be honoured to accept the prestigious position which The Big Lebowski has declined.
I am co-founder (with Ms Angela Merkin) of the avant-garde European Grass Roots Poetry Society.
Thank you.
May 27th, 2009 at 4:54 pm
HELLO MR CHIPPY
(Chapter 1)
Before the arch leading into the Charterhouse School in Godless Godalming, Surrey, I noticed in the undergrowth a patch of red fur and two glowing eyes.
It was Fabio The Fox.
Fetsina (nee Brekkie) had smuggled him into our pilgrim. He was under a pile of The Famous Five Super Puppies.
GERRRRAH, GERRRAAAAH was all I heard on approach…….
From now on, it would be Fabio The Fox and The Five Super Puppies….
Through the archway passed Major Dim Wit, Minor Dim Wit, Chinless Major, Chinless Minor and a brace of Grammar School boys covered with red and active pimples.
Good morning, I am your Latin master…. I said.
I am Cicero Chippingdon.
BUT YOU MAY CALL ME CHIPPY…….
(End of Chapter 1)
May 28th, 2009 at 11:24 am
KJ,
I am still pondering the relevance of Richard Branson’s profile in the pic for this post.
Is there something about him that I should know?
His proboscis seems to be within average range, unlike his wealth. What wine does he imbibe? Is that the connection?
Bridget Jones asks such probing questions. Perhaps she can solve this mystery. Please Bridge, lead us into The Age Of Reason…..
May 28th, 2009 at 11:29 am
HELLO MR CHIPPY
(Chapter 11)
…..The Headmaster’s study, the Charterhouse School, Godless Godalming, Surrey, England
Strange sort of dog, what? said the Head. Caveat canis, eh Chippingdon?
Well, ipso factum, Head.
Fabio was sitting on the carpet, his bushy tail round him for warmth, eyes alert and gleaming.
The warmth had made the black shoe polish on his fur start to melt.
Patches of red were showing.
Canis lupus lupus A Greek woman gave him to me along with Five Super Puppies and their Mater.
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, eh Chippingdon?
Ipso factum, Head. I do not believe we need to fear these gifts from the Greeks as in Troy, what?
Veritas veritatis, Chippingdon. They are rather SUPER, WHAT? But that black and red one is an odd fish, what?
Certainement, mon vieux! Voici FABIO!
Parlez vous francaise?
Mais oui.
I had switched to French because I had run out of Latin phrases from my tattered 1948 Pears Cyclopaedia which was in my study.
Perhaps Chippy old man (he had become familiar on his third Absinthe) the Fifth Form could take them HUNTING, what?
The room erupted.
Festina (nee Brekkie) and the Five Super Puppies : GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Fabio the Black and Red Fox: Aroooooooooooooooooooooo
An inauspicious beginning.
End Of Chapter 11
KJ Says:
*Meet the Principal of the Charterhouse School, The Revd John Witheridge, MA, FRSA.
http://www.charterhouse.org.uk/
May 28th, 2009 at 12:05 pm
As a Colonial, I have had great difficulty translating the Charterhouse terminology, but I am working it out: For example:
Adsum = roll call= get your arses out into the playground.
For a briefing, please go to
http://www.charterhouse.org.uk/about/history/glossary_of_terms.asp
Dear The Dude: I have done what you asked: ad nauseum! KJ.
May 28th, 2009 at 1:21 pm
My Lovely KJ,
I am confused also.
Bridget Jones has two movie. I like to be that Colin Firth. He nicer that that Hugh Grant. Some peoples say Fabio you should au-di-tion to be next to Bridget. Nice eh?
But The Mr Ginger, has got something not so. Or maybe so. He say:
I am homo jui juris.
Mr Ginger if you say these words in Italy you be say I am Man Juice and some ladys no like you maaate.
I don’t wanna see my mate get hurt. I love Mr Ginger. He just make a mis-take. We all make mistake.
Love, love, love to all men and womans,
Fabio The Fox.
Dear Fabio The Fox,
Have you seen ‘The Scent Of A Women’? Its sequel is in production right now – ‘Fabio, Scent Of A Fox’. Love, KJ.
May 28th, 2009 at 6:24 pm
Caesar adsum iam forte…
No doubt this will be familiar to your pupils TGM?
May 28th, 2009 at 6:44 pm
My invitation to poo for Australia Post has been withdrawn.
I thought it my duty to fill you in on this as you might have found yourself in my position. Oh my God…..
I had at first thought the idea of testing the nations’ bowel movements was disgusting but then thought that it could be a chance for old friends to meet up – my aussie girlfriends might even get a chance to use their tupperware again.
Afterall, I live in a street where no-one is able to be embarrassed by anyone anymore.
So now, I have twenty people turning up for moussaka and and no Government supplied screening equipment. What are my duties as a hostess in this situation girlfriends?
Dear Greek and loving it,
I have been following closely (albeit from a distance) the story about our national bowel cancer screening project descending into chaos.
Funny though, how just ONE personal and disturbing story can really bring things to life….
I CARE ABOUT YOU G&LI AND I CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS AT YOUR MOUSSAKA PARTY……
But, just because I CARE doesn’t mean I can help. I really don’t know what to say…. KJ.
May 28th, 2009 at 6:51 pm
The Lonely Scholar,
Salutus!!
My teaching’s a bit ad hoc. I always work pro boner.
But you’ve caught me flagrante delicto.
Must away to dorm duty with The Five Super Puppies, Festina (nee Brekkie) and Fabio The Fox.
Vive, Valeque. TGM.
May 28th, 2009 at 8:29 pm
Dear Miss Jones,
I wish to make a clarification.
My jumper is OFF-white and greasy – the lanolin in the superb wool grown on the Aran Islands is both a blessing and a curse.
Have you ever stood next to a Clancy Brother?
May 29th, 2009 at 9:01 am
Dear Mr Chippy,
Since 1966 I’ve been waiting.
Waiting for a certain footy club to again win the holy grail.
Fortius Quo Fidelius.
Your prediction please Mr Chippy.
May 29th, 2009 at 11:29 am
Dear Greek and loving it,
I have the answer: Blueberry Woman -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80PousFlNcI&NR=1
May 29th, 2009 at 2:51 pm
To students: One week till the end of semester. Until then I will not be able to look you up, put you on, locate and copy you in….or even open you up unless it’s very important. I have a lot to do. And then the terrible grading period!
To Him:
It hasn’t been a bad semester, and the memories – watching you pacing beside the lecturn, tie flapping like a leopard’s tail…..the scene will haunt me right through the mid-year research period.
But, I went through something like this once before and it ended up in a messy budget scandal and the middle floor lounge had to be re-decorated. Not again. Never again. Please don’t look me up.
Dear The Lonely Scholar,
I’d be checking your leave entitlements if I was you. Do take care. KJ.
May 29th, 2009 at 2:59 pm
I may have the words ‘Greek’ and ‘loving it’ in my title or (whatever it is) but that doesn’t mean I’m Helen of Troy with her arse on fire!
May 29th, 2009 at 4:41 pm
Dear Greek and loving it,
I was only trying to help.
Now I know why people want to own a Blackberry, but not a Blueberry….
May 30th, 2009 at 11:48 am
Dear Chick Magnet,
Was helpful. Made me laugh. Thank you.
May 30th, 2009 at 3:03 pm
Dear Megsy,
Dictum, dictum,dictum……
My prediction?
Up ‘em, up ‘em, up ‘em!!!!
May 30th, 2009 at 6:42 pm
You said,
Come, come with me,
Come to the Zanzibar,
And we shall have fun there.
At the Zanzibar I shall show you fun,
I shall show you the jewels in my hair,
And I said,
At my cousin’s funeral…..
They played con te partiro.
I have seen too many Springtimes,
I cannot go.
But I like what you said about Descartes,
About bowel cancer and the human heart,
On human dignity and the right to depart.
I cannot go to the Zanzibar.
But the drums still beat and eat my heart.