All the world’s 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 nurse’s arms.
‘Hello world! Welcome to Blogger.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!
“Ooh er! I can’t think what to say, ‘scuse the spelling! My cat’s got worms.”
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
“Sorry 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 virus……”
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
“So while club football is almost over – Chelsea have done the double and Dundee crushed the hopes of the Highlands beating Ross County 3-0 in the Scottish Cup – 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.”
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 cannon’s mouth.
“What the cu**ing fu*k does that shite Harman think she is up to?”
“String the bastards up, I say”
(Thanks English Warrior, ‘WTF’? Perfect comment – and my first too…..good to know someone is out there)
And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d,
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 Rover’s, the bourne to which all travellers return. Birth, copulation and death revolve around the old gods: Ken, whose very name means ‘knowledge’, an aged Silenus set against the E wig-Weibliche, Deirdre of the Sorrows. The all-too-human plotlines are suffused with original sin – bodies remain in the concrete, love-children in others’ 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 ‘publish’ before I had finished…)
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav’d, 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 isn’t the end of an adventure, it’s 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 ‘One Night for Peckham East’ 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 I’m fed up with the racist/homeophobic/gynophobic/personal/anti-semetic abuse. I’ve met a new man/woman I want to spend my evening with on a fur rug in front of the fire. I’ve said everything I’ve got to say and I’m 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. I’ll leave the archive.
Thank-you for your kind comments. Wow! That’s the most comments I ever had – I had no idea that so many people were reading this blog; I’ve decided to resurrect it, posting will be sporadic while I have my hip replacement operation.
They’ll have to prise my cold dead hand off this keyboard……….
‘Tis a joke, OK? Anna is going nowhere…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 – its getting lonely out here!