Better than the Drones?
Voted in on the first ballot...Maybe, with some hard work, you can make it as well...
"...I'd like to meet his Tailor..."
A Subaltern's Love Song
Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament-you against me!
Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won.
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.
Her father's euonymus shines as we talk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.
The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double=end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.
On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
the Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.
By roads 'not adopted', by woodlanded ways,
she drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car-park the dance has begun.
Oh! full Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!
Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us, the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice,
And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
Sir John Betjeman
"That the V&A should have run an exhibition on heroic image of Che Guevara, even though it has later been appropriated for laudable commercial uses is a disgrace. Decent people should boycott it. Cuban refugees in America were angry enough to try to get it closed down when it was shown at the Fowler Museum of Cultural History in Los Angeles. However, even though they are victims and refugees who have suffered, they are not defined as such by the politically correct minority, so they got nowhere.
Imagine by contrast the hypocritical fuss there would have been over an exhibition of official portraits of General Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte, the hero of the free world who overthrew the KGB supported Allende (an ex-Nazi), saved not only Chile but Latin America from Communism and with the Chicago Boys created the economic "miracle of Chile". Pinochet was responsible for far fewer deaths, mistreatments and infringements of human rights than those evil monsters Castro and Guevara who are feted by our left-wing media. Viva Pinochet!
Che Guevara was an absolute bastard. He lived the life of a murderous psychopath and died in an obscure ditch, shot by an insightful Cuban exile attached as a CIA adviser to the Bolivian armed forces. If only Lenin, Hitler and Osama bin Laden could have been disposed of in the same way at an early age..."
1. Picture yourself near a stream.
2. Birds are softly chirping in the cool mountain air.
3. No one but you knows your secret place.
4. You are in total seclusion from the hectic place called "The World."
5. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.
6. The water is crystal clear.
7. And you can easily make out the face of the person you're holding under the water.
"...It is often said that Evelyn Waugh based Charles Ryder of Brideshead Revisited on Rex. Certainly, it makes sense if we then see Stephen Tennant, a great friend of Rex's, as Sebastian Flyte. The differences might be that Rex's origins were far humbler than Ryder's are posited to be, and his art less easel-based than one gathers Ryder's is. Rex wasn't nearly rich enough (though successful), nor classy enough (his father was a builder and his grandfather - appropriately - a painter and decorator) to be a serious contender in the marriage stakes he observed around him.Rex was almost a professional Bright Young Thing. He was bosom friends with Cecil Beaton, who more perfectly fits that bill. Beaton's photograph of Rex and various others as Fragonard shepherds on a classical bridge is fabulously gaudy and gleamy, but camp beyond measure. But even as he hung out with high-born figures, he must have felt the precariousness of his position. He had a relationship with Penelope Dudley-Ward, the daughter of the Prince of Wales' "friend". But he seems to have been seriously scorched by his feelings for Lady Caroline Paget..."