“Guinness-fuelled man runs width of Ireland in a day” —BBC
A good head start won’t guarantee your feat Gets carried off by feet you’re carried on, Or clear your head to see why you’re dead beat One fraction through your ultramarathon. Draft Guinness is a potion fit for gods High up on Mount Olympus, yet this grand Elixir isn’t brewed to raise your odds At overcoming nausea on your planned Day trip from west to east. For that, you need Some cereal bars, U2’s whole catalog, The stranger who shows up to take the lead, And being fed bananas while you jog Relentlessly—but, once you’ve crossed the line, That second pint of Guinness tastes divine!
“Le Petit Nicolas illustrator Jean-Jacques Sempé dies aged 89” —The Guardian
“Snowman author Raymond Briggs dies aged 88” —The Guardian
Art lovers took this week a double hit:
The charming Frenchman and the grumpy Brit.
From melancholy Fungus it’s a way
To all those rodent-nosed écoliers;
Sempé’s big trees with little types below
Seem far from Briggs’s melting man of snow;
But as, at nearly four-score years and ten,
Each master-draftsman has put down his pen,
Let us be grateful for them both, and say: Thanks, Mr. Briggs! Merci, M. Sempé!
“Prince Charles’s charity won’t be investigated… for accepting £1 million
from the family of Osama bin Laden…” —The Times
A Mr. Bin Laden is here, Sir,
And he’s asked if you’ve time for a chat.
Rest assured there is nothing to fear, Sir,
Not the faintest bouquet of a rat.
An eyebrow or two may be raised, Sir,
That’s a fact one can scarcely refute.
But your judgement will surely be praised, Sir,
This Bin Laden is laden with loot.
You fear to accept may be rash, Sir?
Well, of course, one must think of one’s brand.
But think too of that mountain of cash, Sir.
Let’s not fret that it’s built upon sand.
“In the 110th minute, the second-half substitute latched onto a loose ball with her outstretched right foot and toe poked it home.” —The Athletic
Once more it seemed that English hearts were destined to be broken.
Through ninety minutes we had sunk from ecstasy to woe.
But, just as we grew desperate, we saw a clever poke-in:
Praise to our Lionesses—and to Chloe Kelly’s toe.
The English sports experience can verge upon the tragic.
There’s mostly disappointment in our fortune’s ebb and flow.
But, once in every English life, there comes a moment’s magic:
We’ll always have the memory of Chloe Kelly’s toe.
“French astronomer apologises for ‘planet’ photo that was really . . . chorizo Klein acknowledged that many users had not understood his joke which he said was simply
aimed at encouraging us ‘to be wary of arguments from people in positions of authority
as well as the spontaneous eloquence of certain images’.” —The Local: France’s News in English
Excuses sincères! exclaimed le savant Klein;
This planète rouge is made, in fact, of swine;
A saucisson d’Espagne, viewed in cross-section, Viande terrestre. Accept, please, this correction.
The photo was une blague, to make us weigh
The claims of éloquence that’s spontanée.
I cannot say how désolé I am.
It should have gone to your folders de spam.
“[A]n Italian government project is under way to transform (and restore) the Appian Way… Travelers will explore the theaters of famed gladiator battles… and attractions will be marked on an app… The ministry of cultural heritage has earmarked 20 million euros to develop the [archaeological sites] for tourism.” —National Geographic
Merrily, merrily,
Italy’s government
proudly proclaims that you
won’t need a map;
tourists who stroll through the
archaeological
settings will download the
Appian app.
“Sen. Kyrsten Sinema on Thursday night offered critical support for President Joe Biden’s domestic agenda after party leaders agreed to change new tax proposals at her request…” —CNN
She will support the bill! Rejoice! Relax!
Gives thanks for Gloria non minima!
She’s also saved the rich from extra tax!
Sing Kyriesten Eleisinema!
