The Church Has No Power Over Our

The English Language Is Like London: Proudly Barbaric Yet Deeply Civilised, Too, Common Yet Royal, Vulgar Yet Processional, Sacred Yet Profane.

It Is Astonishing How Articulate One Can Become When Alone And Raving At A Radio. Arguments And Counter Arguments, Rhetoric And Bombast Flow From One's Lips Like Scurf From The Hair Of A Bank Manager.

Come Back, And Do That Thing, Be Lovely To Each-other.

But Happiness Is No Respecter Of Persons.

Sex Without Smiling Is As Sickly And As Base As Vodka And Tonic Without Ice.