Books 2010

Books 2009

« Summer's here | Main | A Russian Faust »

Sunday, 24 May 2009


The mascot is cute although it has no whiskers! Don't tell me it is for security reasons! But I agree that it may be nicer for cuddling sessions.
Yesterday, when I read this, I wondered why their mascot is was a tiger. I was supposing it could be due to their sponsor and I went check out on their website (leicestertigers dot com). In fact, they took up the name in 1885 because one journalist wrote then that "the tiger stripes were keeping together", and they had striped shirts too.
Anyway, there is a picture of the 1893-1894 Tigers, and 8 (a ninth being not visible) of them had great whiskers, and all three managers too.

Fast forward a week and we arrive in Edinburgh, where the Cornflowers were having a double celebration in an Italian restaurant (no. 1 daughter timed her arrival 20 years ago to coincide with our wedding anniversary). The place was hooching with jolly, excited Irish rugby fans having lunch before the big match, the potential tongue-twister between Leicester and Leinster. The English fans must have used a different guide book, no sign of them. Being too mean to pay for satellite TV I followed by radio as the Dubliners edged it 19-16.

The comments to this entry are closed.


  • Nothing is of greater consolation to the author of a novel than the disovery of readings he had not conceived but which are then prompted by his readers. (Umberto Eco, Reflections on The Name of the Rose)
  • ... relatively few persons in London ... can afford the luxury of one or more servants. No fewer than 3,700,000 have no servants at all, and of the half million that have servants 227,000 have only one. (The Times, 6 June 1895)
  • Standing among savage scenery, the hotel offers stupendous revelations. There is a French widow in every bedroom, affording delightful prospects. (Tyrolean inn brochure, according to Gerard Hoffnung)
  • (A doctor is at an elderly relative's deathbed) "The old sawbones, eh?" he bellowed ... "Just in the nick, perhaps. Haul the old girl back by the short hairs, if you ask me. Devilish smart at his work ... Always take a fence with more confidence when I know he's out with us."
  • Too often, when a man of Monty Godkin's mental powers is plunged in thought, nothing happens at all. The machinery just whirs for a while, and that is the end of it. (P G Wodehouse, Heavy Weather)
  • ...the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Laurence took his grid (Kipling, The Five nations)

Photo Albums

Blog powered by Typepad