Stav Danaos was reading the weather today. Reading. Not telling. He’s a bit proprietorial about it all isn’t he? Perhaps he takes his job title, weather forecaster, a bit too liderally*. It doesn’t come from a magic well into which only he can see, you know. For my part I prefer the pagaillique* approach of the ITV-casters, with the exception, obviously, of that woman who rides the donkey as a route to fame – she who posits herself as a specialist forecaster of weather at horse racing venues. Her colleagues though, are good because the know that they’re common and act like the weather’s something that has just happened to them. Which, of course, it has. It may sound harsh to put it that way, but I’m allowed, I was once a trainee pig-iron trader.
Author: dickiewhiteblog
August 4th – Gents ready-made suits, Shirts, socks, ties, hats, Underwear and shoes, Going up.
I know that he isn’t him. He (the real he) is Nurse Ratched.
July 25th – Now one old man got nasty, And to the council wrote, Next time my old man went ’round there, He punched him up the throat.
It makes them sound even thicker than the originals, speaking a more ignorant and lazy derivative, without rules of precedence, that will tolerate any extemporised rhyme with anything else.
17th July – Our house is a very, very, very fine house with two cats in the yard, Life used to be so hard, Now everything is easy ‘cause of you.
For what is a house, but a static target with your name on it?
July 13th – come along with us, to the glorious, annual, ugly bug ball.
It’s time to split his portfolios up and give one to putative modern-day saint, Saint Greavsie of Television.
July 10th – Back home, we’ll be thinking about you, while we’re not that far away.
I am prepared to legislate to provide England with a system of 4-4-4.
July 8th – I don’t drink coffee, I take tea, my dear. I like my toast done on one side.
'"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: I have already got me special beer goggles on, Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
June 29th – The sun’ll come out tomorrow, Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, There’ll be sun.
It is not in my nature to carry a weapon, but should any agents of the state decide to investigate, they’ll discover that I have fashioned a stick like the one Gabriel Oak used to cure abdominal bloating in sheep
June 24th – Sleep upon my shoulder as we creep, Across the sands so I may keep, The memory of our Caravan.
Come the end of the season, I’ll have mastered the art of living small, and need only add a car with tow bar to create a portfolio of flexible assets, which will bring with them a world of opportunity.
June 22nd – I’ll gas up my hot rod stoker, We’ll get hotter than a poker, You’ll be broke but I’ll be broker, Tonight we’re settin’ the woods on fire.
I haven’t seen Nomadland yet, but perhaps with (temporary) access to funds and some paid employment I’m not so much homeless as camping?







