I am surprised that English ships are still allowed to fly the Red Ensign. Surely the Politically Correct ninnies can find some ethnic group that find it offensive to their sensibilities and have it banned.
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I am surprised that English ships are still allowed to fly the Red Ensign. Surely the Politically Correct ninnies can find some ethnic group that find it offensive to their sensibilities and have it banned.
Good news is so rare these days
St Georges Day.
I’m waiting for the Race Relations Industry to try banning the White Duster. Whoo Hoo
St Georges Day.
…….Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’
In Bradford this morning a man in armour riding a horse was arrested. When questioned by police he said he was looking for directions to England.
Cloggy:-He’ll have to go well South of Luton to find England. Try the Cotswolds Sir Knight.
NB Not as far South as London. The English are officially an oppressed minority there.!!
England, This England.
“There are only 11,000 red boxes still in use and 2,500 of them enjoy grade II listed status (meaning that they are protected because of their exceptional architectural merit), and in the age of the mobile phone they can only get rarer. In 1992 BT had 92,000 phone boxes but that number has now dropped to just 51,000 (and counting).”
Red door, climbing roses, Cotswold cottage- next to Rye this must be England at its most picturesque. This is in Moreton-on-Marsh, one of the lesser photographed Cotswold villages, in Gloucestershire. (UGArdener on flickr)
Cloggy:—
We love Morton-in-Marsh. Stayed thereabouts several times. One time we were holidaying in Bournemouth and broke our journey at Morton-in-Marsh on the way down and it took us all our willpower to tear ourselves away and continue on.
With her delivery of deliciously snarky lines like last night’s “what happens when the non-existent bumps up against the decrepit?”...
The moon did not become the sun.
It just fell on the desert
in great sheets, reams
of silver handmade by you.
The night is your cottage industry...
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Do the math :)
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