22nd September – I would go out tomorrow, if I could borrow, a coat to wear.

Anyway, with my new teeth, I have decided to take up courting again

16th September – In this life, one thing counts, in the bank, large amounts.

I don’t like to boast, but what better sign of wellbeing is there than a good portfolio of recently acquired underpants?

9th September – bully for you chilly for me.

Imagine we were still in the EU, and they had presided over the death of Geronimo?

6th Sept- Ask your mama for fifteen cents, To see the elephant jump the fence. It jumped so high, it touched the sky, Didn’t come back ’til the fourth of July.

By now a crowd had grown, and he, deploying the rhetoric favoured by my father said, ‘oh, so my opinion doesn’t count. I’m not allowed to have an opinion am I?’

29th Aug – Oh, yeah, And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way

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.

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.