...seven per cent of Britons have dropped a biscuit tin on their foot, three per cent have fallen off a chair reaching for vital nourishment, and an equal percentage have poked themselves in the eye with a biscuit.
Seven per cent admitted to have been bitten while feeding a tasty biscuit morsel to a pet or “other wild animal”. The most extreme example of biscuit-related mishap, however, was the case of the man who got stuck in wet concrete after wading in to retrieve a stray biccy.
Falling off a chair or poking oneself in the eye? Wading into concrete? These people do not deserve to eat biscuits. They malign the good name of biscuits. They make me fearful of the day when we will see official safety instructions and health warnings printed on the wrappers of biscuits. What other injuries can people sustain eating foodstuffs? Impaled by a baguette? Blinded by a prune? Garotted by a liquorice shoelace? I am fearful for the future of humanity, truly.
(I think I may have to have a cup of tea and ginger nut, I'm so upset. I'll eat it carefully, though, don't worry...)
a completely daft promotional boat shaped like a boat shoe. Madness. Yachty madness.
Unfortunately, I am neither surprised nor incredulous at the election of two
Some of the factors involved in this sad event include the current frothing at the mouth over the Telegraph’s “revelations” regarding MPs expenses, ensuring the media-consuming public’s almost complete loss of faith in all mainstream parties and benefiting smaller parties who have had no part in the debacle (more due to not being elected to Westminster rather than any principle, methinks).
As much as I agree that there have been stupidly greedy- and just plain stupid- expenses claimed by MPs from all sides, I would have to say that I am more interested in fixing the system than castigating those who exploited it (although, can there be two words more certain to furrow the brow than “career politician”?) [ Former MP Tony Clarke has some very interesting views on how this problem can be avoided… http://tonyclarkeindependent.blogspot.com/2009/05/localism-is-key-to-cleaning-up-politics.html and no, they don’t involve shooting anyone, nor making pointless “protest” votes]
Let’s not forget the impact of The Labour Party’s version of “Murder on the Orient Express”, each minister taking it in turn to knife Gordon Brown back, front or anywhere they can reach. There is a kind of rough justice to it after Gordon’s long public sulk as Chancellor undermined laughing-boy Blair, but it has shown a divided and desperate-looking Government nonetheless: Gordon himself must be extremely rattled - after all, if you now count Peter Mandelson as on one of your allies you must know your time is limited, surely?
Add to this a general lack of understanding of what it is the European Parliament does, apart from regulate the curve of bananas and herd Eastern Europeans over the Channel in order to “steal our jobs” (and become our human-trafficked prostitutes, I suppose…) – an ignorance perpetuated by the mass media refusing to actually explain how and why Europe works , preferring to focus on the gossip of politics rather than the substance - is there any wonder that people don’t see the necessity of voting in the European elections ?
I don’t agree that the people of the
This isn’t to say we should do nothing and that the
It is a certainty that there will be a general election within the year. It is not a certainty that the
ATLAS (by U A Fanthorpe)
Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it
Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget
The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;
Which answers letters; which knows the way
The money goes; which deals with dentists
And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,
And postcards to the lonely; which upholds
The permanently rickety elaborate
Structures of living, which is Atlas.
And maintenance is the sensible side of love,
Which knows what time and weather are doing
To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;
Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers
My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps
My suspect edifice upright in air,
As Atlas did the sky.
Prospero:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158
