All the worldâs a blog,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first the infant, mewling and puking in the nurseâs arms.
âHello world! Welcome to Blogger.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!
âOoh er! I canât think what to say, âscuse the spelling! My catâs got worms.â
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
âSorry about the lack of posts. That bitch Clarissa dumped me, (more on that later) and then I had to re-do my Dissertation, and Mum used my computer to log onto Mumsnet and got a nasty virusâ¦â¦â
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistressâ eyebrow.
âSo while club football is almost over â Chelsea have done the double and Dundee crushed the hopes of the Highlands beating Ross County 3-0 in the Scottish Cup â and with at least a few weeks to go before the Football World Cup takes over the airwaves, we have a little, tiny, wee window in which to play our traditional summer sports.â
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannonâs mouth.
âWhat the cu**ing fu*k does that shite Harman think she is up to?â
âString the bastards up, I sayâ
(Thanks English Warrior, âWTFâ? Perfect comment â and my first tooâ¦..good to know someone is out there)
And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon linâd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.
I am not I, they are not they, and Coronation Street is not Inkerman Street. Coronation Street is, however, an ongoing paradigm, speculum humanae vitae, whose cobbles incorporate the Heideggerian necessity of existence. The street qua street is no thoroughfare, it has no beginning and no end, a Ding an sich leading nowhere, but with at its still centre the Roverâs, the bourne to which all travellers return. Birth, copulation and death revolve around the old gods: Ken, whose very name means âknowledgeâ, an aged Silenus set against the E wig-Weibliche, Deirdre of the Sorrows. The all-too-human plotlines are suffused with original sin â bodies remain in the concrete, love-children in othersâ cradles, and the commercial proximity of kebabs and lingerie scarcely needs a Freud to interpret, nor need we speculate why the factory is called Underworld. The populating she-devils would grace a Mystery play!
Foucault once remarked. . .
(Sorry, my darling Puddlekins sat on the keyboard and pressed âpublishâ before I had finishedâ¦)
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipperâd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well savâd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
This isnât the end of an adventure, itâs the beginning. Thanks for entrusting your incredible family and friends to us, for reading along on this blog as you chanced by, and for standing with us these past few weeks. We look forward to telling you more stories. We are planning an event called âOne Night for Peckham Eastâ on Sunday evening, September 12th where you will get a chance to hear and see for yourself the difference these wonderful people are making. Hope to see you there.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
This is my last post Iâm fed up with the racist/homeophobic/gynophobic/personal/anti-semetic abuse. Iâve met a new man/woman I want to spend my evening with on a fur rug in front of the fire. Iâve said everything Iâve got to say and Iâm fed up with circular arguments. I just want to say the Con-Dems are as shite as the Labour lot. I may be back under another name. Iâll leave the archive.
Thank-you for your kind comments. Wow! Thatâs the most comments I ever had â I had no idea that so many people were reading this blog; Iâve decided to resurrect it, posting will be sporadic while I have my hip replacement operation.
Theyâll have to prise my cold dead hand off this keyboardâ¦â¦â¦.
âTis a joke, OK? Anna is going nowhereâ¦just mourning the loss of so many good Bloggers in recent weeks. Grumpy Old Twat went off to the great Blogyard in the Sky last night and several others who have not sounded the Last Post are conspicuous by their silence â its getting lonely out here!