Happy Rubbish Poet Day!

[slacker]

As well as Chinese New Year & Australia Day this weekend, our Scotch friends will also be tucking into some Sheep Offal & Neeps.

Not sure what the Aussies traditionally throw on the barbie to celebrate Colonial Invasion Day, so I think I’ll stick to the M&S Chinese Meal for a tenner deal and try to avoid their current flu-like virus to mark one of these cultural highlights.

On a football anniversary note, I see it’s 25 years since Cantona’s excellent kung fu kick on the tw*t who goaded him with “off you trot”. That probably deserves a bottle of cruddy Kronenbourg being raised to our favourite sardines and seagulls philosopher turned sexy advert farmer in accompaniment to the sweet & sour.

Anybody tempted to chow down a haggis and tasteless, slushy root veg instead?

[slacker]

The best use of lego ever on Eric’s incident:

[Max B Gold]

An appropriate poem from Robert.


Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

II.

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain;
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

III.

O would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld gray head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak' this declaration;
We've bought and sold for English gold--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

And I raise a glass to the grandparents of Cantona, Pere and Paquita Raurich. Those brave Catalans forced from their land by fascists in 1938.

[Max B Gold]

Just got back from a Chinese Burns Night.

My lower arm is bright red and really sore so will not be going next year.

[Disoriented]

An appropriate poem from Robert.


Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

II.

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain;
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

III.

O would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld gray head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak' this declaration;
We've bought and sold for English gold--
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

And I raise a glass to the grandparents of Cantona, Pere and Paquita Raurich. Those brave Catalans forced from their land by fascists in 1938.

Time the Catalans got it back.