"It really is the perfect holiday. I mean, the heat is intense, the garden lovely, the chair long and cool, the lime-juice at hand, a bathing pool there if one wishes to splash, scenery, books, gramophones, pretty people--and above all, the sense that it is not going on too long."Harold Nicolson from Villa Mauresque, Cap Ferrat, 4 August 1938, Diaries & Letters 1930-39 (1969)
Thought you'd enjoy this, on a Sunday:
ReplyDeleteThe Yoof's Prayer
Our father, who art in prison,
my mum knows not his name,
Thy Riots come, read it in the Sun,
in Birmingham, as it is in London.
Give us this day our Welfare bread & forgive us our looting,
As we’re happy to loot those who defend stuff against us.
Lead us not into employment but deliver us free housing,
for thine is the Tellies, the Burberry & the Bacardi,
forever and ever.
Respek.