citizenED

Oh the dismal masquerade that is the run up to Christmas. Shops stacked high with festive tat. The joy.

Oh, the joy of the run up to Christmas: Those little previews of whats on TV over the Season: Heaven.

Putting myself down for just the wrong side of off-colour. Eyes are sore and ever-so-slightly-crossed; head feels like over-used pillow. Mouth like the iside of trouser turn-ups. Still, at least I am the healthiest person in my household.

It wasn't you who beat up on those poor Elves in "The Lapland Experience" was it, HB?

Yes, Moos, I saw them and, like you, was rather non-plussed. It was in a magazine, in the middle of an article about social deprivation in Troy, New York. Considering some of the amazing photographs of craggy landscapes they could have used it was such an uninspired choice of image. On the next page was a lovely tempting ad for sunny Turkey. I might well like the landscape in the Canary Islands if I ever get there but for now, on the strength of those ads, I know which one I'd choose.

Mockney, just for information, like, how do you pronounce that matador chap's surname?

....and back to the Fat Pig whom sayeth, in regarded interviewformercial, "There was a massive, big, life-size chocolate fountain" Answers on a postcard as to what the flippin 'eck is one of them.

The use of "fannage", to mean the degree to which one might be a fan of something, made me chuckle.

Thanks for sorting it out Mark, your time will be much appreciated. Got me wondering just what Keef, Sean, Mockney and the other uber-posters did during the downtime. Probably just wrote all their comments in Word for super-speedy uploading when the problem was sorted.

Woolies workers can rest assured that their wages are assured until....Friday. Hope they find that buyer.

Yep, I bumped into a little Mip today who told me it was Asset's Birthday this very day. Lots of love to you, luv. Citizen

HB, shouldn't that be that you can store 1474 increasingly private messages. If so, could I be privvy to some of the later ones as they are bound to be on the seedy side of risque.

The Mash's take on it here

People want their 15 pence back? 15 pence that was going to charity anyhow. Sound reasoning methinks.

Terribly sad. Feel so, so sorry for the family. My heart goes out to them.

At one point in my life I was well into TS Eliot. Here's why. The Love Song of Alfred J Prufrock: LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question ? 10 Oh, do not ask, ?What is it?? Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20 And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25 There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go 35 Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, ?Do I dare?? and, ?Do I dare?? Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair? 40 [They will say: ?How his hair is growing thin!?] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin? [They will say: ?But how his arms and legs are thin!?] Do I dare 45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all:? Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all? 55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60 And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all? Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [but in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] It is perfume from a dress 65 That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? . . . . . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?? I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75 Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ? tired ? or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet?and here?s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85 And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, 90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: ?I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all?? 95 If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: ?That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.? And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, 100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor? And this, and so much more?? It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: ?That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.? . . . . . 110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, 115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous? Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old ? I grow old ? 120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. 125 I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Just to tap into the spirit of the X-factor Ken Lee

Bolton 0 Liverpool 1 Arsenal 2 Aston Villa 1 Blackburn 3 Sunderland 0 Fulham 0 Tottenham 2 Man Utd 3 Stoke City 0 Newcastle 2 Wigan 1 West Ham 2 Portsmouth 0 West Brom 0 Chelsea 1 Everton 2 v Middlesbrough 1 Hull City 0 v Man City 2

Packaging, in all its forms. Especially the ones with the built in "easy-open" section which lulls you into the false premise that it is actually easy-to-open when you know full well you will be grabbing for the kitchen scissors at some point down the line to do what you blooming well should have done at the outset an snipped the thing open with a blade. Grrr

Strong argument from Simon Jenkins. (Thanks Huguenot.) After what has been a tough, emotional week with these stories of cruelty and death it is hard to find much comfort. But, find some I have in the simple fact that the cruelty in the case of Baby P was not suspected strongly enough for any agency to take decisive action. (forgive me for not knowing the facts here, but I have looked the other way regarding any details lest I might be emotionally wounded.) This suggests, I think, that with the human heart, hope springs eternal. No individual person was able to act on their intuition and step in when it was needed. It's because no right-thinking person would ever want to believe that a parent could abuse their child. You patently cannot. You want to believe the best, you trust, you hope, that everything is OK. Your mind is unable to embrace the idea that a fellow human could be capable of such unfathomable evil. As some posters have suggested, alas, another child will die. But we do not descend into a community of people who routinely distrust one another. Can you imagine: every parent under scrutiny, every citizen duty-bound to twitch the curtains on their neighbour, every newborn tagged with a caseload worker to prevent "it ever happening again". Shudder. And so peversely, I find a morsel of hope at the end of this: my solace exists in the fact that we naturally think well of each other. Lets keep it that way.

Back to the original post Annasfield, a large version of the D&G advert is above the escalators down to the Tube at Euston Station. Ride down and you'll get those 5 sets of hunky loins passing just above your head. Reason enough to take the Northern Line?

Naturally, sir. I am eyeing the calender to look for suitable dates for my bout of manflu to kick in. Should I do the beginning of a week or the end? Should I go for the whole week? Questions, questions. I feel a sneeze coming on.

What, along the lines of the "Calender Girls" one; with buns!

Thanks HOB - just thought David might've had designs on *Bob*.

And a cravat. Dans suit. And a matching kerchief for nose-blowing, etc.