- Location
- London
A retired workaholic man in Japan is described as a nureochibazoku (wet fallen leaf) because, lacking hobbies and friends through over-work, he follows his wife around like a wet leaf stuck to a shoe. (
Dissing those of us who use pig grease to maintain our flowing locks...Something on Social Media had Debbi in LOL mode yesterday morning and when I enquired it seems that on a private group of Hair sector trade members a Salon proprietor from Coventry had shared a post from her local nextdoor type of site.
"Can anyone recommend a Vegan Hairdresser?"
The answers shared within the trade group were indeed hilarious.
Maybe inspired by this apparent hairdresser invention:"Can anyone recommend a Vegan Hairdresser?"
Testalonga?
Bingo!T
Testalonga?
Michael Deacon is a great writer. His Parliamentary sketches were very funny and observant.Clumsy, ungrammatical, repetitive and repetitive
There’s a new Dan Brown book coming out later this year, says Marina Hyde on The Rest is Entertainment. So what better excuse to dig out one of the all-time great pieces of criticism: Michael Deacon’s 2013 “appreciation of the author” in The Daily Telegraph. Below are the first three paragraphs.
I think this should be delivered with the passion and to the tune of Brel's Amsterdam. Maybe Tom can start practicing for the next Christmas Wimps:ChatGPT is getting better and better
The Ballad of the Burgundy Blues
(Verse 1)
Well, I walked into a tavern, down on old Saint-Denis,
Lookin’ for a bottle, somethin’ fine and Burgundy.
Asked the man behind the counter, "What’s your cheapest pour?"
He just laughed into his apron, said, "We don’t sell that no more."
(Chorus)
Oh, the vines still grow in the Côte d’Or sun,
But the price goes up, and the deals are done.
From old Marsannay to the Montrachet line,
I got the Burgundy blues and not a drop to call mine.
(Verse 2)
Sylvain Pataille used to pour for the poor,
Now the brokers grab the cases ‘fore they hit the cellar door.
PYCM’s got the white gold, crisp and bright,
But you need a king’s ransom just to sip it at night.
(Chorus)
Oh, the vines still grow in the Côte d’Or sun,
But the price goes up, and the deals are done.
From old Marsannay to the Montrachet line,
I got the Burgundy blues and not a drop to call mine.
(Verse 3)
Domaine Dujac, I once knew you well,
But now your juice is sittin’ high on a billionaire’s shelf.
DRC’s still standin’, grand as the moon,
But I’d have to sell my soul just to taste that perfume.
(Outro)
So I’ll drink to the days when the farmers still poured,
When a working man’s wage could unlock Grand Cru doors.
Now I raise an empty glass to the Côte d’Or sky,
Where the vines still whisper, but the poor man's dry.
[Harmonica fades into the distance...]