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Wednesday, 18 July 2007


First time here, happy. It’s always my pleasure to read this type of stuff. Thank you for taking the time to share with it, and this blog is very nice. I’m still waiting for more interesting thoughts from your side in your next post. Have a nice day!

I live near Liverpool -- was there yesterday in fact. It is a great city, with wonderful architecture -- much underrated, I think.

I've always loved the Gerry Marsden song. It brings a lump to the throat of one who has never even been there. There's just something about his voice.

The College of Arms has the Liver Bird as a Cormorant I believe.

I am from S.A. and have stayed in Arniston (near Cape Agulhas) which is where the Birkenhead went down, the hotel there has various old artifacts from the ship which eventually washed ashore.

Thankyou for the three legs!
With reference to losses at sea, as I'm sure you know, the founder of the RNLI was a Manx resident, Sir William Hillary.

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  • 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)

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