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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 22, 2009 10:01:49 GMT
chapter ten .... Mayan smoking habits. puffing away is a delightful act of worship. In an idle moment's break from the bathroom, Avi muses on whether her hair-drying regime might be getting a bit obsessive.
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sandywinder
Madrigal Member
Holistic Philosopher
The private sector makes boxes, the public sector ticks them
Posts: 16,929
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Post by sandywinder on Oct 22, 2009 12:56:13 GMT
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 23, 2009 9:28:08 GMT
chapter eleven after a short moan about the woeful state of journalistic writing after 1914, we get to the delight of reading the work of HM Tomlinson. in particular, The Sea and the Jungle and Tidemarks.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 25, 2009 8:18:23 GMT
chapter twelve
... delight at the antics of the Marx brothers.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 25, 2009 8:25:32 GMT
chapter thirteen ... the delights of cosy planning.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 26, 2009 8:49:32 GMT
chapter fourteen tells of the author's delight whenever he leaves New York ( 'a comic strip painted on vellum and bound in gold.') he really dislikes the city and it's denizens. Lady Markham-Harshly demonstrates to her grateful pet the best way to throttle a troublesomely randy dachschund.
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Post by nickcosmosonde on Oct 27, 2009 3:24:24 GMT
He used to live on the Isle of Wight, virtually next door to me, so what the buggery does he know?
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 27, 2009 10:07:24 GMT
chapter fifteen ..... the delight of unrolling sheet music of some tune that has been on his mind and being able to play it out of his system to achieve freedom from the maddening haunting.
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Post by NoKylieSonde on Oct 27, 2009 11:29:44 GMT
Ah yes, a quick relief method nowadays known as "Minogueing." This week I have mainly been haunted by this: And I say, hey hey hey hey I said hey, what's going on? Ooh, ooh ooh And I try, oh my god do I try I try all the time, in this institution And I pray, oh my god do I pray I pray every single day For a revolution And so I cry sometimes When I'm lying in bed Just to get it all out What's in my head And I am feeling a little peculiar And so I wake in the morning And I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream at the top of my lungs What's going on? And I say, hey hey hey hey I said hey, what's going on? Bloody non-blondes. Once they're in your head you can't get rid of them. But do they write, or pm, or give you a moment's thought? Do they ****. Here you are, I don't see why you shouldn't suffer too: www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXcQGsoDkDk
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 28, 2009 8:36:55 GMT
chapter sixteen ..... the delight of seeing a good play come together.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 29, 2009 8:03:43 GMT
chapter seventeen .... at the distant sound of the thud-thud of a football, delighting in the memory of pre war (ww1) summer games of soccer.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 30, 2009 9:18:03 GMT
chapter eighteen .... the delight of 'Romantic recognition'. he gives two instances. example 1: flying between the Armenian capital and the Black Sea, a fearsome rock face, and immeasurable slab bound in the iron of an eternal winter was pointed out to him as being where Prometheus was chained. example 2: autumn 1914, on a route march in Surrey, being watched by a little old lady who turned out be the Empress Eugenie, and realising that he and his comrades really were part of history.
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Post by Pink Betty on Oct 31, 2009 10:22:44 GMT
chapter nineteen Mrs Cameron's photograph of the young Ellen Terry
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Post by Pink Betty on Nov 1, 2009 9:42:40 GMT
chapter twenty ....the delight of homecoming. not to the white cliffs or the dazzling scribble of buttercups and daisies seen from a train window, but to the mess, the perpetual November, the mournful muck, the little towns that have never once been gay and gaudy, the gloom and decay of London.... but nevertheless, he's home.
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Post by Pink Betty on Nov 2, 2009 9:15:08 GMT
chapter twentyone ....nosing out delight. the aromas of coffee and bread are surpassed by the smell of the earth after a long sea voyage.
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