Wee birdie you are safe
It’s the sparrers outside my bedroom window that sing early in the middle of the night like 6 ack Emma that I am pieing
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Show me an eave, I’ll raise an brawling bird.
It’s what they do and eaves are for, and less absurd,
You must admit, than red and mournful lips
Crying drouth and ignorance of the labouring ships
Which beat gin-laden through the dolphin-haunted strait.
Forget the empty sky and bring a glass:
Man’s saddest lamentation is ‘Too late!’
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Pitcher annan round of applause.
Still plenty of rain here
Carinthia. xx
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I am trying to trebuchet more rain your way wee birdie
Have you ever tried getting a cloud to sit on a trebuchet?
Or a ballista?
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I had some success with water bottles…
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Have you any idea how much pollution that amount of water vessels generates?
And the extra weight?
And the lack of soothing rain defeats the porpoise!
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The extra weight was definitely part of the purpose. When you have a trebuchet, everything looks like a fortification.
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Shudders in memory of maths classes where ballistics was included in the applied maths
My need of such knowledge has been negligible since skool
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“A saxophonist is 27 metres away and 3 metres above your position. What is the minimum speed…?”
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Arsk Gus…
Carinthia. xx
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Don’t forget the angle of starting the projectile’s journey
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Love it!
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…the ground state
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Someone should have studied their Belloc:
Behold the Electrician where he stands:
Soot, oil, and verdigris are on his hands;
Large spots of grease defile his dirty clothes,
The while his conversation drips with oaths.
Shall such a being perish in its youth?
Alas! it is indeed the fatal truth.
In that dull brain, beneath that hair unkempt,
Familiarity has bred contempt.
We warn him of the gesture all too late:
Oh, Heartless Jove! Oh, Adamantine Fate!
A random touch — a hand’s imprudent slip —
The Terminals — a flash — a sound like " Zip! "
A smell of burning fills the started Air —
The Electrician is no longer there!
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Someone did;- )
Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.
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Oof
Itizz Hissing it down again.
The Quattro/Fork Andles have been fired-up
Carinthia. xx
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Exactly right, from my point of view. Gawdelpus.
I made a nice thing with pasta and fennel for dinner and I’ll shuffle off to bed. now. Best nights, Cellarites.
Soo xx
Wrong thread - sozz.
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