The Songstone

That result put me in the box against the Phoenician. After a series of volatile exchanges we reached this position with the Phoenician rolling 4-4. After barely a heartbeat, he played 4off(3), 6-2! 'Fuck that!' shouted Mint ( He had not had a refill for 20 minutes and Cautious had dropped my initial double). 'You can't leave a blot there!' 'Want a gammon, no?' and he picked up the dice. Mint put his head in his hands and groaned while Cautious chortled in the corner.

Over New Year at the Double and Drop, some of the usual crowd came in and out for the chouette. Murray the Mint had had too much Christmas cheer and was steaming more violently than usual; Cautious George was still wedded to the plays that had served him well in 1975; the Phoenician was his normal self: devastating with the checker play and utterly reckless with the cube. For the first game Cautious was in the box (red) against me; we quite soon reached this position: After a while he redoubled and showed some sign of anxiety when Mint and the Phoenician took without a second's hesitation. After some thought, I did too, although I wasn't convinced. 5 turns later we reached this with me on roll: and 3 cubes raced across the board towards the unhappy Cautious, who immediately offered us 3 each. I was happy to bank the cash but Mint and the Phoenician were having none of that. Mint took my place, made a great show of rattling and shaking and

Sacré cordon bleu! Chef Marc Veyrat has lost his case against the Guide Michelin for downgrading his restaurant from 3 stars ('one of the best') to 2 (merely 'excellent'). The overstrung onion chopper claimed this event 'threw me into a profound depression' and that it was 'worse than the loss of my parents, worse than anything'. Mille tonnerres (or perhaps mille tommes )! The worst insult, apparently, was the suggestion that the histrionic hors d'oeuvres server might have used English cheddar in his soufflé . He was also 'dishonoured' that Michelin had taken his 'virtual scallops to be real scallops when they were made from a base of Lake Geneva burbot livers'. Well, quite. M. Veyrat charges €395 (plus the wine) for the Menu 'La Grande Fête dans les Etoiles' and no doubt it's worth every sou(s chef ). Business is, by his own admission, 'booming'; I'm sure losing this case will

omnes hi metuunt versus, odere poetas. 'faenum habet in cornu, longe fuge; dummodo risum excutiat sibi, non hic cuiquam parcet amico et quodcumque semel chartis inleverit, omnis gestiet a furno redeuntis scire lacuque et pueros et anus.' agedum pauca accipe contra. primum ego me illorum, dederim quibus esse poetis, excerpam numero: neque enim concludere versum dixeris esse satis neque, siqui scribat uti nos sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse poetam. ingenium cui sit, cui mens divinior atque os magna sonaturum, des nominis huius honorem. They dread our verse and hate the poets. “Flee!  Far! For there's hay tied to his horns. He won't  spare any friend to raise a laugh. Whatever  he scribbles down on paper, everyone  must know about it.” Listen, let me say  that first I’d cut my name from lists of poets; just churning out a verse is not enough. Someone like me, who writes in common language,  doesn't deserve it. Give that name to one  whose soul is honoured so

                                                                  ... cum mea nemo scripta legat, volgo recitare timentis ob hanc rem, quod sunt quos genus hoc minime iuvat, utpote pluris culpari dignos. quemvis media elige turba: aut ob avaritiam aut misera ambitione laborat. hic nuptarum insanit amoribus, hic puerorum: hunc capit argenti splendor;   Nobody reads my writing; I'm afraid to read aloud, because some care but little for it, and most men are at fault. Pick one  out in the crowd: for greed he'll toil, or low ambition. This one's mad for married skirt,  that one for boys, a third for silver's gleam.

garrulus atque piger scribendi ferre laborem, scribendi recte: nam ut multum, nil moror... di bene fecerunt, inopis me quodque pusilli finxerunt animi, raro et perpauca loquentis   He's garrulous: detests the work of writing - writing his best I mean. For me, mere scribbling dulls. Thank the Gods my thoughts are few. I've no spirit; I speak but rarely, then say little.

eo fit, plenior ut siquos delectet copia iusto, cum ripa simul avolsos ferat Aufidus acer. at qui tantuli eget quanto est opus, is neque limo turbatam haurit aquam neque vitam amittit in undis. That's why Raging Ofanto scours the riverbanks carrying away who grasps for more than's fair But those who want just what they need won't choke in muddy pools, nor perish in the flood.