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An awful Woolf Night?

Becky Binz-Comely was having an awful night. Every 25th January was the same: celebrating that terrible oik Burns, who was appalling to his women and whose father was a mere tenant . Haggis!   She would write an article for the Guardian culture section . They would take anything written by and celebrating talentless posh. 'Virginia Woolf, whose contribution to and influence on literature has been immense, was born on the same day as Ayrshire’s favourite son – yet year after year, no one shows up to her party.' That this could be because Woolf was an over-privileged loony who wrote excruciating banal never wormed in Becky's 'mind'.   One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well. Oh, the profundity! Becky was in raptures. Boeuf en daube! Becky was sure they never ate that in Ayrshire. 'Emily Brontë’s bicentenary is due in July.' Quite by chance, mid-rant, Becky tripped over a great writer, but perhaps realised her error an

An awful day 2

Becky Binz-Comely was having an awful day . The news that evil rapist, John Worboys, was to be released after only 9 years, was a body-blow to all put-down, privately-educated, female Oxbridge graduates everywhere.  She could have been in that cab! Imagine those filthy oik hands clawing at her couture! Oh!  Of course Becky believed in rehabilitation. Of course she knew there were far too many (almost all working-class men) in prison. Of course muggers and burglars, especially black ones, were products of broken homes and an uncaring, racist society.  But men like Worboys were the scum of the earth, and should be castrated, or at the very least locked up and the key thrown away. Only language his sort understood.  He'd even had the cheek to plead not guilty and force a survivor to testify! No woman should ever have to prove her accusations! She should just be believed! Anonymously! No longer a danger to the public? Experts on the parole board? Pah! What did they kno

An awful day

Becky Binz-Comely was having an awful day . It was that time of the month; Christmas was over; it was pissing down and freezing; the delayed train was steaming with sodden, standing commuters.  Becky did what any well-brought-up young lady from Penge would do: she abused a near-minimum-wage oik in a cheap polyester uniform. 'You there...'. It was only a hundred years from Passchendaele, when great grandmama had sat, crocheted, suffraged and sang ' We don't want to lose you, but ...'. Becky was very proud of her heritage.   This oik was not cannon-fodder, though: imagine Becky's chagrin when he did not cringe; imagine her horror when he actually answered back! 'Honey'!   Becky was outraged. Becky was appalled. The struggle for women's rights was far from over. Had great-grandmama suffraged for this? Until a young, very well-brought-up female graduate could be heard in respectful silence, until her entirely justified complaints were met with

Farewell the Philippines

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Farewell the Philippines, what can one write of pata, beaches, beauties every night? Needs must recover quick! Back to 广东 and Sanying Spa Resort, where weary schlong can longer bathe in waters nature's blessed and Rooster year seen in by broody rest A place of peace and quiet in this great nation enlivened by amusing mistranslation

Winter blues: Zamboanguita

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Pata

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  Delicious sinful unctuous pata yar!

Cebu - Dumaguete

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You know it's not a major route when your plane's like this