The Songstone

Alex's response

Near one monastery there's a place outside the town… The monks’ wives, they call ’em; everybody knows about it. I’ve been there myself and it was very interesting. In its own way of course; just for a change. A bit spoilt by Russian nationalism - there are no French girls there though they could easily afford some: it’s a very prosperous monastery indeed. Brothers Karamazov, chapter IV

I have been advised that in order to increase the number of visitors to this site I need to use more terms that will attract them. Sex . The problem is I am not really sure what does attract people. Pussy . This post is therefore an experiment in 'getting with it' in the hope that this space too can be at the cutting edge of the blogosphere. Big dick . Next year's royal wedding (with that ring ) is in everyone's thoughts today. Especially in the USA, where at a safe remove from the idle parasites they can swoon at the charming romance of the occasion. I sincerely trust that in the spirit of the age of austerity the wedding will be held at a Hackney registry office followed by a bacon butty and cup o' char reception. David Cameron has graciously decided that the taxpayer should no longer have to cough up for his personal photographer and film-maker.  The Tory party will instead pay to have him airbrushed. Finally the Eurozone crisis lurches on. The same ...

'TIS true, 'tis day ; what though it be? O, wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because 'twas night? Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, Should in despite of light keep us together. Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; If it could speak as well as spy, This were the worst that it could say, That being well I fain would stay, And that I loved my heart and honour so That I would not from him, that had them, go. Must business thee from hence remove? O ! that's the worst disease of love, The poor, the foul, the false, love can Admit, but not the busied man. He which hath business, and makes love, doth do S uch wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

Another oldie, from a few summers ago. I understand he no longer works there... Library bar, Thorpeness, Suffolk 'You open?' we cheerily cried at the empty room. 'Suppose so,' came the scowled reply Two pints followed soon. 'The front door’s locked, so we didn’t know if you were open.' 'That's not the front, front’s round the back can’t serve you if you don’t know that!' 'Fucking place is a dump,' he said 'the committee? They're all lemmings I wanted bands, music all night but this inbred bunch is much too tight to spend a fucking penny.' 'So,' said I, 'could you tell me why the Artisan's Cup stopped in '81?' Said he, 'I couldn’t give a fuck and you two boys are out of luck cos I’ve cashed up. It's half past eight so fuck off now or I’ll be late!” © Simon M Hunter 2010

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