Diprotodon

4,371 +1,185 = 5556 And then some.

tiredwithtwins

ooooooooohhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

c'mon, tell us then!!

...or is he going to 'reveal' himself to us???????

Diprotodon

He will reveal no more than he wants you to see. If you want more proof look in the archives it is carved in to the ether.

Peter

No thanks. He's not important.

Diprotodon

That is your second mistake.

Peter

Good; I am pleased.

Diprotodon

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down.

Bix

Do I loosen my tongue ?

...and risk the horses head.

Don

Omertá fragli amici?

Peter

And the minister's daughter is in love with a snake; your point being?

Pollyana

Oi!! I shall show that to The Bloke in the morning! Who are you calling a snake? He won't be happy!!! Leave us good little minister's daughters out of this

Don

Philip Larkin - Lines On A Young Lady's Photograph Album

At last you yielded up the album, which
Once open, sent me distracted. All your ages
Matt and glossy on the thick black pages!
Too much confectionery, too rich:
I choke on such nutritious images.

My swivel eye hungers from pose to pose --
In pigtails, clutching a reluctant cat;
Or furred yourself, a sweet girl-graduate;
Or lifting a heavy-headed rose
Beneath a trellis, or in a trilby-hat

(Faintly disturbing, that, in several ways) --
From every side you strike at my control,
Not least through those these disquieting chaps who loll
At ease about your earlier days:
Not quite your class, I'd say, dear, on the whole.

But o, photography! as no art is,
Faithful and disappointing! that records
Dull days as dull, and hold-it smiles as frauds,
And will not censor blemishes
Like washing-lines, and Hall's-Distemper boards,

But shows a cat as disinclined, and shades
A chin as doubled when it is, what grace
Your candour thus confers upon her face!
How overwhelmingly persuades
That this is a real girl in a real place,

In every sense empirically true!
Or is it just the past? Those flowers, that gate,
These misty parks and motors, lacerate
Simply by being you; you
Contract my heart by looking out of date.

Yes, true; but in the end, surely, we cry
Not only at exclusion, but because
It leaves us free to cry. We know what was
Won't call on us to justify
Our grief, however hard we yowl across

The gap from eye to page. So I am left
To mourn (without a chance of consequence)
You, balanced on a bike against a fence;
To wonder if you'd spot the theft
Of this one of you bathing; to condense,

In short, a past that no one now can share,
No matter whose your future; calm and dry,
It holds you like a heaven, and you lie
Unvariably lovely there,
Smaller and clearer as the years go by.

(My bold, underline)

Pollyana

What was it "someone" said earlier this weekend....."Please don't post when you're pissed?"...........

Don

Give me a chance woman! It's only 16.24 and the Arsenal match hasn't begun yet - that'll be bevvy time.

Pollyana

Ye Gods, what a lightweight! 16.24 and he's not drinking yet!! Ah well, when I get out of bed in 6 hours time I'll expect many a drunken rambling to greet me......