..."So who art thou, then, spirit?" "I am that Power that wills forever evil, yet does forever good."
- Goethe, "Faust"
Because sheep can't speak. Or maybe they do, but we just don't get them. Sorry, that was awful, wasn't it? I don't know any Welshbeings personally, but I see you Englishmen love to mock their supposed penchant for ovine affections. So I just went with the flow. Are there any Anglophiles left, besides me, though? Even I have to struggle hard these days to keep that feeling alive. A year in northern England had on me the same effect as this kind of stuff. And seeing Tone B's grinning mug in the news every other day doesn't help, either. Not that Dour Gordon looks any more appealing, though.In the country I left behind a few years ago, the political elites used to be divided into two factions, before the vile Soviets took over: Francophiles and Germanophiles (I know, I know, both were terrible choices). But there was one fierce Anglophile in Parliament, always sticking out like a sore thumb, with his appropriately British stiff upper lip and double-breasted pinstripes. Not only did he buy all his suits on Savile Row, but he even shipped all his clothes over to England to be cleaned and ironed. An East European's devotion to quaint causes can be quite moving.
Nicely illustrated, there, Des. On behalf of all our readers, let me just say "Eeeewwwww!"I'm also quite surprised to hear that there are such things as Francophiles left in the world. Apart from John Kerry, natch. I didn't meet any even in France, and they were all French...
Whenever I think of the Welsh, I immediately remember Waugh's Decline and Fall. Was anything meaner, or funnier, ever written?
Yet not even Evelyn was mean enough to mention any consummation with docile ungulates on the part of the Welsh. He retained some class, despite his other defects. Or maybe he thought that'd have been too cheap a shot?
Ditto, Cantimer, regarding Waugh's roasting of the Welsh. How mean, how funny, how true. And like all the best targets, they're completely defenseless. Next week, we're gonna satirize the Jews. That'll be a test of nerve, eh?
I'm afraid we're not allowed to attack the Jews, Sean - Mel Gibson has that whole area copyrighted, and has a whole raft of top lawyers to enforce his writs.Well, top non-Jewish lawyers, that is. So about five-millionth overall...
Isn't the word in Welsh, "lllayeroupoeruporj;alufoias-philia?"Cheers.
Des,Just clicked on the link. Jeez, Louise in a Chicken basket, what the hell were you thinking?Cheers.
Ivan, when you wrote, "Well, top non-Jewish lawyers, that is. So about five-millionth overall..." I hope you were not suggesting that the legal profession is top-heavy with Jews. Given their numerical insignificance, it'd be impossible for them to dominate in the way your comment suggests they do. To suggest otherwise smacks of antisemitism, a quality I had hitherto not associated with your blog. I don't always comment, but you got my hackles up. Sorry.
Sorry, Randall, didn't mean to upset anyone's stomach (or intestines, for that matter) with that picture. Also, don't imagine that I'm some sort of pervert looking for gruesome stuff on the internet. I got an ad linking to that website as I was reading checing the inbox in my Gmail account. Now there is a relevant question you can still ask. Gmail scans messages for key-words to target specific ads at the reader (yeah, I voluntarily gave up to Larry Page and Sergey Brin my precious right to privacy). So, you may ask yourselves, what was the content of the message Gmail scanned to then target me with ad ad for that gross intestinal kit?But I guess some things are destined to remain perpetually inscrutable mysteries. ;-)
Satirize the Jews? I suggest you read some Sholem Aleichem.
Don't be alarmed, Myrna - just ragging on Mel again. One tries to keep one's hand in.
Thanks Des! Just the image I need at bed-time. Why did I think you were an Englishman living in Manchester? 'Fess up!
To quote Blackadder, "Never ask for directions in Wales Baldrick, you'll be combing phlegm out of your hair for a week".
You can't possibly be so disgusted, PI. They're Blessed Herbs! Blessed, can't you see?But then again, you never had to make your way home through wave after wave of Rusholme's finest.
these are not welsh-- they are steam-driven housewives, come to steal your coal away in the night
just clicked on that link. Oh my God, my eyes, my eyes...! Why would you do that? What have we ever done to you?
I find it hard to take issue with anyone who despises Chomsky and thinks he's Bulgakov, but you're on the wrong track here, mun - a track that might take you to Gadlys on a stormy night when the chips huddle in the mircowave for warmth and, who knows, a little company. The reason there's no equivalent word for the Welsh is that there is - Siluromania, which usually comes quite literally over English women who visit Cinderella's night club in Mumbles. There's also Cambrophilia, but that can be confused with North Carolinans so awed at seeing their first tarmacadamed road that they indulge in frantic frottage with it. Hwyl!
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