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"We're sailing on a strange
boat" The Waterboys
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Some reflections on amusing humans
I have known – all of them caricatures, of course. The first one, called "going where" gives a bit of existentialist advice –
the rest speak for themselves.
As with a lot of things in life And we do well to admit it We don't know where we are going We
just know we want to go there.
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Otterley's Decision Otterley Hopelass was his name. Quite why I don't know; I suppose, Mr and Mrs Hopelass called their son Otterley, and there he was - Otterley
Hopelass; and he was, and still is, and probably always will be Otterley Hopelass. I first met him down at the riverside pub ‘The Innocent Lamb.' Strange name for a pub. Innocent, it was not and lamb didn't
appear on the menu. Still,
the Innocent lamb was where it was we had this little converstation."Otterley! Surely you can. It can't be that difficult? Why only the other day Sam Othersmahavit reminded me how he had packed it all in and invested everything
he had in what everyone
else thought was a crazy
project, and that was
'85, and look since
then." "Well
I know it sounds risky, but that's the game: nothing ventured nothing
gained. Look at it this
way: you're not giving
up all that much (no offence intended), good though they are, the prospects in ‘Grey Clouds Interior Design' aren't exactly silver lining."
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"Of course. Wise move. Spread your assets. If
the business did collapse... of course it wouldn't - shades of grey will always have a market but if it did, you'd still
have stocks and shares with Umayleaver and Gamble - they're into pensions now, promising ..." "Do you really! Otterley? I mean, what do you do all day? It can't be that absorbing. I've mixed paint - colour matching is quite an art, and with grey, well, it becomes a profession. But does it really bring Life-long career job addiction?" That was it, really - didn't come to a
conclusion, and Otterley didn't reach a decision. His background, the environment, what others may
think, the business, the wife and addiction - all left him eventually: Otterley Hopelass.
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No one knows Whether it was something to do with the water supply Or perhaps some kind of genetic trait Developed in the oesophagus
of the people Or indeed
the pollen of a local tree species But everyone knows The
town's reputation for steady vibrations n.n.n.n.n.n.n.h.h.h.... s.s.s.s.s.s.s.z.z.z... beginning around 10pm and reaching a crescendo after midnight – the hum of thousands of air conditioners
But this was no Engineering side effect of ugly cooling machines Designed to relieve inhabitants from oppressive heat No – this was the natural song and rhythm Of the snorers of Mendoza And you must understand The habit was not confined to middle-aged men Who had laboured, dined and drunk themselves
to sleep Absolutely
not –
beautiful young maidens,
athletic youths And
the greatest grandparents – all
indulged in this extravagance Visitors to the town Perchance irritated or disturbed by the nightly rattle Soon found the contented din of slumberers n.n.n.n.n.n.n.h.h.h.... s.s.s.s.s.s.s.z.z.z... pulled even the most insomniacal into
its welcome charms
It is not however Infectious or contagious or adoptable in any way Only born and bred locals are
certain to develop the trait A little after puberty and thereafter endemic But to visit or to stay is to be blessed By the snorers of Mendoza.
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Britishness Although the class system sucks From the sewer to the troposphere, The British still earn
a bridled admiration Despite it all. Achievements
in art, science, and academia In sport, endurance and adventure Are generally attained with a measure of modesty And often an apology. Just got
a bit lucky - got there in the end With chin up and a stiff upper lip, Bearing an old war wound and Against
all odds. Jolly ho What oh Good chap Fancy that! What
a surprise Can't believe m' eyes That's my girl Flags unfurl!
Oh, the British! They embody a spirit fundamentally admirable - Human achievement in the face of adversity; They rise from a mad and bigoted history To occasionally shine against a backcloth of perversity.
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An English gentleman, 1907
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Mosely Road Baths, London |
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Calder Street Baths – built
like a prison Red-painted bars and peeled-paint ceiling; Noise of boys cheeking a peek Past the neck-a-knee
blind of the changing room streak; A pooled
together of Glasgow's laughs And closed forever this culture's past Where a weekly wash and a day of show See
the white tangled limbs of mums, boys and aunts; A
busty woman in a slung-up holster Shows a rubber baby to stay a float; A beer-bellied man with slumped chin and
bum can float but cannae swim; Skinny boys in football shorts Fly through the air in awkward exposure And pretty girls in their
first bikinis Delicately blush in the eye infested splash.
"Baths" were community swimming pools, now mostly replaced by "leisure centres"
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