Possibly my favouritest thing ever about Oxford is that you can be walking down some random little street and suddenly be accosted with incredibly intense Book Smell as you walk past the vent from a subterranean library stack, hinting at the vast pleasures below your feet
The beach's flag is deepest red,
It warns of risk 't could leave you dead,
And lest your limbs grow stiff and cold,
Best stay on shore and not be bold.
Any politician doing this “o tempora o mores” schtick has to spend the next year in the Hot Dog Man costume
I *think* I have managed to convince The Teenager that camomile tea was originally a patent medicine advocated by the C17th herbalist Giancarlo Camomiletti, which came to be known as “infusion of Camomiletti” and then corrupted by the English to “Camomily tea” and then “camomile tea”.
Every so often I’ll pay a visit and someone will say “ach sure would you not think about coming back to live here?” and seem genuinely surprised by the bitter laughter
I hadn’t been to Heligan for some years, so it was a delight not only to visit the Lost Gardens in full bloom but also to spot a couple of hummingbird hawk-moths busily working their way through the catmint
The people’s flag is deepest garnet;
Let me in the water, darn it
Ooh shall I bring out The Graph again?
This is of course a straightforward consequence of the Barnet Jaws Of Doom, which is a much larger problem along with the fact it only seems to be known or discussed amongst massive nerds
If we do pride month we should also do wrath month, and Haring’s unfinished painting should be its flag