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Speaking of Hallowe'en...
A clip I post every year, just for my dear sister...
Hee-hee!
Humber, Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland: Southwest 7 to severe gale 9, becoming cyclonic severe gale 9 to violent storm 11 for a time, perhaps hurricane force 12 later. Rough or very rough. Rain or squally showers. Miss Gulch expected.
The heir to the throne thinks Christianity is a load of nonsense, it has emerged.The Daily Mash.
The infant was left bitter and angry after being dressed up like a tiny old lady and baptised against his wishes.
Desperately flailing his plump limbs, the future king said: "Get...off...me...I have no interest in your strange, outmoded belief system!"
He continued: "At this age I just want to lie on my back smiling at brightly coloured plastic objects. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.
"I should at least be at the stage of changing my own underwear before choosing a spiritual path.
"However if it was up to me – which clearly it isn’t – I’d probably choose to worship the Egyptian gods, particularly Horus.
"He’s a super-muscly guy with a bird’s head. That’s the sort of tangible superhero god a young boy can relate to.
"I can also see myself getting into tarots, crystals and occultism. Who knows, maybe I could be the next Aleister Crowley?
"Anyway I hope you all had a nice time today. I’m soaking wet now, and thoroughly pissed off."
Top Hat closes in the Aldwych Theatre in the West End tomorrow (26th October 2013), but will embark on a nationwide tour thereafter.
I'm so pleased we got to see it...
I want some action so I move myself down to the corner house, see if I can't catch up with BB. I need some halfway decent conversation after my day. I enjoy the benefits that Joe Lyons has brought to the West End. The Coventry Street Corner House is startling in the way it fits in and complements deviant life.Utterly brilliant - and a perfect evocation of a lost underworld in 50s London.
It is a centre for mysteries and petty criminals. All classes and sexes trawl here from time to time. Ponces home in on likely fodder, old lecherous men after young boys and young boys from the "Meat Rack" in Piccadilly in search of rich men. Prostitutes are officially barred, but who knows what a girl is doing with her bits? Gamblers will drop in on their way home and bevvy merchants take a breather between the club and the next watering hole in Covent Garden or Spitalfields. There is never a time when you can't drink in London, but it requires a bit of ingenuity. The Corner House is a coffee shop in the morning, a Palm Court in the afternoon, restaurant in the evening and then an all night café of a superior kind. People gird their loins, ready for the next alcoholic foray or for the next bit of villainy.
It is buzzing as usual. A few hyenas and jackals lurk, with larceny in their hearts and cups of tea in their hands. They give a nice frisson of excitement to the atmosphere. I now most of them at least by sight and nod a greeting, give out a mutter from the side of my mouth, an affinity of the bent. Now and then a copper will come in but he sticks out like a sore thumb. Grasses, however, abound.
I see Billy straight away. I watch him for a few moments. He is also called BB. A Bengal Lancer of style and one to be watched. He is thin, wiry, yet not skinny; his face is in motion all the time. Eyes watching out for angles and boys, mouth ready to spurt scalding sarcasm and sharp wit, chin set hard against the world. One tough little fucker. I like his smartness, his sexiness, his style. We two reckon we're a cut above the rest. We're right, too.
I have spent my whole life living near the coast of Bosaaso, Somalia. I don’t know any other land. While the boat beat, those who are hungry for new homes in places like London and Luxembourg, risk their lives on cargo ships, I stand firm on this soil and I tell stories. I tell stories to my daughters about kings and warrior queens, freedom-fighters and poets. I tell these stories to remind my children and myself that Somalia is fertile with history and myth. And the only seed that needs watering is our imagination.He reads (and writes) beautifully.
It seems like only yesterday we had a sexy video to drool over featuring our favourite houseboys Kazaky, and here is another one! As they quite rightly observe, It Doesn't Matter:
"I don't think about my age and I don't care about anyone else's.Nevertheless, to still be at the top of your game at the time of life when many people would prefer settling into a comfy armchair with a cup of tea and a copy of the People's Friend is a remarkable feat, indeed. And so it was as Madame Arcati, John-John and I (almost killing ourselves scaling the stairs to the Upper Circle) settled breathlessly into our seats in the packed Theatre Royal Drury Lane for the penultimate date on her month-long UK tour.
"It's about doing what you do well and about learning and progressing. I'm still learning. I don't ever think I know how to do this."